genocides by the oppressed: subaltern genocide in theory and practice

INDIANA University Press Bloomington & Indianapolis

http://iupress.indiana.edu

1-800-842-6796

Genocides by the oppressed

edited by nicholas A. robins and Adam Jones

subaltern Genocide in theory and practice

Gen

ocides by th

e oppressed

robins and Jones

INDIANA

Political ScienceanthroPology

“the study of comparative genocide is one of the most important of our era. by focusing on acts of genocide (or near genocide) committed by

oppressed people (or people who imagine them-selves to be oppressed) this book sheds light on

an important dimension of the problem.” —roger smith, college of William and Mary

in the last two decades, the field of comparative genocide studies has flourished. the result is an increasingly rich literature on the targeting of various groups for extermination and other atrocities, throughout history and around the contemporary world. however, the phenome-

non of genocides by the oppressed—retributive genocidal actions car-ried out by subaltern actors—has received little attention. the promi-

nence in such genocides of non-state actors, combined with the moral ambiguities of retributive acts that arise in analyzing genocidal acts

“from below,” have so far dissuaded serious investigation. genocides by the oppressed seeks to address this oversight, opening the subject of subaltern genocide for exploration by scholars of genocide, ethnic conflict, and human rights. Focusing on case studies of such genocide,

the authors explore its sociological, anthropological, psychological, symbolic, and normative dimensions. the contributors are alexander

laban hinton, eric langenbacher, evelin g. lindner, David B. MacDonald, e. o. Smith, and christopher c. taylor.

nicholaS a. roBinS is a lecturer in the Department of history at north carolina State University. he is author of native insurgencies and the genocidal impulse in the americas (indiana University Press,

2005); genocide and Millennialism in Upper Peru: the great rebellion of 1780–1782; and the culture of conflict in Modern cuba.

aDaM JoneS is associate Professor of Political Science at the University of British columbia, okanagan in Kelowna, Bc. he is

author or editor of a dozen books, including genocide: a comprehensive introduction.

cover illustration: a slave revolt in Saint-Domingue

Genocides by the Oppressed

Subaltern Genocide in Theory and Practice

Edited by

Nicholas A. Robins and Adam Jones

INDIANA UNIVERSITY PRESSBloomington and Indianapolis

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Genocides by the oppressed : subaltern genocide in theory and practice / edited by Nicholas A. Robins and Adam Jones.

p. cm.Includes bibliographical references and index.ISBN 978-0-253-35309-2 (cloth : alk. paper) —

ISBN 978-0-253-22077-6 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Genocide. 2. Ethnic confl ict. I. Robins, Nicholas A., 1964– II. Jones, Adam, 1963–

HV6322.7.G488 2009364.15'1—dc22

2008043164

1 2 3 4 5 14 13 12 11 10 09

Contents

INTRODUCTION Subaltern Genocide in Th eory and Practice

Adam Jones and Nicholas A. Robins—1—

1SYMBOLISM AND SUBALTERNITY Th e 1680 Pueblo Revolt of New Mexico and

the 1780–82 Andean Great RebellionNicholas A. Robins

— 25—

2ON THE GENOCIDAL ASPECT OF CERTAIN SUBALTERN UPRISINGS

A Research NoteAdam Jones

— 47—

3ETHICAL CLEANSING?

Th e Expulsion of Germans from Central and Eastern EuropeEric Langenbacher

— 58—

4OPPRESSION AND VENGEANCE

IN THE CAMBODIAN GENOCIDEAlexander Laban Hinton

— 84—

vi

5FROM JASENOVAC TO SREBRENICA

Subaltern Genocide and the SerbsDavid B. MacDonald

— 103—

6VISIONS OF THE “OPPRESSOR” IN

RWANDA’S PRE-GENOCIDAL MEDIA

Christopher C. Taylor— 122—

7GENOCIDE, HUMILIATION, AND INFERIORITY

An Interdisciplinary PerspectiveEvelin G. Lindner

—138—

8EVOLUTION, PRIMATES, AND SUBALTERN GENOCIDE

E. O. Smith—159—

9“WHEN THE RABBIT’S GOT THE GUN”

Subaltern Genocide and the Genocidal ContinuumAdam Jones

— 185—

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES

— 209—

INDEX

— 211—

1

IntroductionSubaltern Genocide in Theory and Practice

ADAM JONES AND NICHOLAS A. ROBINS

Between 1780 and 1782, Peru and Upper Peru (present-day Bolivia) were ravaged by an Indian uprising in which over 100,000 people perished, and which would haunt the land with the specter of race war for years to

come. Long exploited, the Indians had been subjected to mounting economic pressures as a result of the Bourbon Crown’s eff orts to increase colonial reve-nues and restrain the power of the Catholic Church. Not only were they forced to purchase oft en useless goods at highly infl ated prices from Spanish gover-nors, but parish priests also charged increasingly onerous fees for saint’s day celebrations, marriages, funerals, and other services. Combined with wide-spread resentment over forced labor, the imposition of unprecedented taxes on Indian staples, a lack of viable judicial recourse, and prophecies concerning the return of Indian rule, the region exploded in violence. Between September 1780 and February 1781, in what is today central Bolivia, followers of the Indian Tomás Catari (and, aft er his death, his brothers Dámaso and Nicolás) called for an end to civil taxes, religious fees, forced labor, and coerced pur-chases. Initially killing Indian and Mestizo leaders who opposed them, the rebels soon unleashed their forces on the lighter-skinned in general, resulting in a brief and ill-fated siege of the regional capital of La Plata.

Th roughout the region, non-Indians were systematically slaughtered. In February 1781, the town of Tapacari was overrun by insurgents. Th e Spanish, Creoles, and their Mestizo allies found that the church in which they had bar-ricaded themselves off ered little physical protection. According to the few sur-vivors, once inside, the rebels killed all those they could fi nd in the “altars, choir and tower”; “the blood ran like streams” from the victims.1 In San Pedro de Buenavista, those inside the church, despairing aft er their resistance had been broken, simply opened the doors of the church and “hand[ed] themselves over to the arms of death.”2 Similar events played out in the region of Cuzco, where in November 1780 Túpac Amaru, the chief of the village of Tungasuca, executed the local Spanish governor and sparked a mass uprising of Indians which cul-minated in an unsuccessful siege of Cuzco in January 1781. Between March and

2

October 1781, another rebel, Túpac Catari, dominated the area around La Paz and laid siege to the city. Approximately ten thousand people, or one-third of the city’s population, perished. Other rebel leaders with exterminatory aims overran scores of villages in the region.

In many cases, rebels in the fi eld went beyond the call of their nominal lead-ers. Th is was especially the case with Tomás Catari and Túpac Amaru, both of whom were more conservative than those who operated in their names. While Oruro was the only sizable town to fall to the rebels, villages had much less protec-tion, and the victims were generally killed in or near the churches where they had sought physical and spiritual refuge. While some women and men with certain skills were spared to serve their new masters, the rebels generally did not take prisoners. Many insurgents were inspired by prophecies foretelling the return of Indian rule to the land, harbored a belief in resurrection, and believed that native gods, long dormant, had fi nally risen up to expel the Christian god and those who oppressed them in his name. Th e native utopia that they sought to create had little use for their erstwhile masters; indeed, the continued presence of Spaniards, Creoles, and even Hispanicized Indians was antithetical to their aims.3

A scant decade aft er the Great Rebellion was fi nally quelled, an even more destructive rebellion—indeed, the greatest slave revolt in human history—erupted in the French colonial territory of Saint-Domingue (today’s Haiti). Th e slave trade had turned Saint-Domingue into the jewel in France’s colonial crown, produc-ing nearly one-third of the world’s sugar. Th e twin forces of rampant mortality among slaves and burgeoning global demand for their products resulted in a con-stant infl ux of human chattel—such that by 1791, fully half the slaves on the fertile Northern Plain had been born in Africa. Th ese same forces, however, when com-bined with the cultural and linguistic bonds among the slave population, contrib-uted to the success of the organizing eff orts that produced the uprising.

In a matter of weeks, the Northern Plain went up in fl ames. In a volcanic outburst of racial violence, slaves systematically murdered nearly every white they could set their hands upon:

Th ey murdered white men in their beds and raped the women atop their hus-band’s corpses. Th ey nailed one member of the slave-catching militia alive to the gate of his plantation and chopped off his arms and legs. Th ey tied a carpenter between two planks and sawed him in half. Two sons of a white planter and a slave woman stabbed their father to death. Planters had been meting out similar violence to their slaves for generations, but news of these atrocities sent waves of horror through Europe because for the fi rst time white people were being killed by the hundreds, a toll that would soon mount into the thousands.4

Th e insurgency waxed and waned over the course of thirteen years of highly complex national and international maneuvers, but its culmination in 1803–1804, with the fi nal and successful struggle for Haitian independence, was accompanied by parallel outbursts of indiscriminate racial murder by whites and blacks alike. General Leclerc, desperately seeking to recapture Saint-Domingue for Napoleonic France and reinstate slavery there, soon found his troops wasting away from dis-ease and rebel attacks. He wrote in exasperation to Napoleon that to secure vic-

Adam Jones and Nichol as A. Robins

3

tory, it would be necessary “to exterminate all the blacks in the mountains, women as well as men. Except for children under twelve. Wipe out half the population of the lowlands, and do not leave in the colony a single black who has worn an epau-let.” Among Leclerc’s genocidal innovations was the creation of “what may have been history’s fi rst gas chamber,” when black captives were forced into the hold of a ship and suff ocated by burning sulphur.5 When the French eff ort fi nally col-lapsed, independence leader Jean-Jacques Dessalines responded not by extending a hand of mercy and reconciliation, but with a fi nal racial bloodbath. Dessalines declared that he “need[ed] the skin of a white to serve as a parchment, his skull as an inkwell, his blood for ink, and a bayonet for a pen.” He called for “one last act of national authority, forever assur[ing] the empire of liberty in the country whose birth we have witnessed.” Th e whites, “this people of executioners,” had to be destroyed—and several thousand French citizens who had returned to the ter-ritory under Dessalines’ more moderate predecessor, Toussaint Louverture, were slaughtered.6 According to Philippe Girard, “when the genocide was over, Haiti’s white population was virtually non-existent.”7 Overall, several hundred thousand people—black, white, and mulatto—had been killed in one of the most destruc-tive confl icts of the early modern era.

Th e Great Rebellion and the Haitian slave uprising are two examples of what we refer to as “subaltern genocide”: cases in which subaltern actors—those objec-tively oppressed and disempowered—adopt genocidal strategies to vanquish their oppressors. By “genocidal strategies,” we mean those indiscriminately targeting a population for extermination on the basis of a collective identity, whether actual or imputed. Th is identity may be national, racial, ethnic, or religious, to cite the four variables mentioned in the United Nations Genocide Convention of 1948; or it may be founded on political affi liation, social class, or gender identity, to list three further variables that have gained a fi rm foothold in the literature of comparative genocide studies. Th is reworked defi nition of genocide—the Convention phras-ing, supplemented by political, social, and gender groups, and with an emphasis on the physically exterminatory dimension of genocide—anchors the present vol-ume, though individual authors may have their preferred defi nitions.8

Subaltern Genocide in Comparative Genocide Studies

From its original conceptualization in 1944 by the Polish jurist Raphael Lemkin, “genocide” has overwhelmingly been depicted—and prosecuted—as a crime com mitted by state actors against vulnerable minorities, on the state’s territory or beyond its borders. Th e Nazi Holocaust against European Jews and others is oft en cited as the prototypical genocide. Th is was a systematic, well-coordinated, bureaucratically sophisticated campaign that directed the agencies and capaci-ties of the state toward the end of mass extermination. A somewhat similar, and certainly state-directed, dynamic was evident in the Armenian genocide in the Ottoman Empire during World War I—the fi rst genocide beyond the Nazi case to attract sustained scholarly attention. Analyses of other “classic” twentieth-century

Introduction

4

genocides, notably those in Cambodia and Rwanda, have tended to emphasize the element of careful organization by an extremist cabal that fi rst seizes national power, then uses state instruments to consign victims to mass death.

Th e emphasis on state perpetration is also integral to many of the alterna-tive defi nitions off ered by genocide scholars, which seek to compensate for the ambiguities, shortcomings, and complexities of the UN Genocide Convention. Th e sociologist Irving Louis Horowitz, for example, defi ned genocide in 1976 as “a structural and systematic destruction of innocent people by a state bureaucratic apparatus.”9 For Jack Nusan Porter, genocide is committed “by a government or its agents”; Isidor Wallimann and Michael N. Dobkowski deploy identical language in their own defi nition.10

Even where defi nitions of genocide are not conditioned on state power, they exude a strong sense that genocide is something that socially and politi-cally dominant groups infl ict on subordinate ones. Th us, an early defi nition by Vahakn Dadrian (1975) depicted genocide as “the successful attempt by a domi-nant group, vested with formal authority and/or with preponderant access to the overall resources of power, to reduce by coercion or lethal violence the number of a minority group . . . whose respective vulnerability is a major factor contrib-uting to the decision for genocide.”11 In their widely cited book Th e History and Sociology of Genocide, Frank Chalk and Kurt Jonassohn emphasize that “geno-cide is a form of one-sided mass killing,”12 while Israel Charny cites “the essential defenselessness of the victim” as a key consideration.13

Th ere are good reasons for these emphases on state power, and on perpe-trators who occupy a position of structural domination over others. States have long been defi ned by their monopoly, or at least disproportionate control, over the means of coercion. Th e infl iction of one-sided mass death is less likely in the absence of these disproportionate capacities. States, moreover, are generally best positioned to coordinate, logistically and bureaucratically, the large-scale cam-paigns of systematic killing that we usually associate with genocide.

However, a state-centric perspective tends to obscure instances where subal-tern actors themselves adopt genocidal strategies and the ideologies that underpin them. Consider, for example, the sub-genre of retributive genocide proposed by Vahakn Dadrian and also adopted by Helen Fein. Th e notion of retributive geno-cidal killing appears to capture the dynamic of subaltern genocide, in which an oppressed group seeks to gain revenge and liberation by waging genocide against their oppressors. In fact, however, all the exponents of the concept depict retribu-tive genocide as imposed by the dominant upon the dominated: it is “confi ned to localized atrocities as a form of meting out punishment to a segment of the minor-ity, challenging or threatening the dominant group” (Dadrian); it subsumes cases “in which an elite of a dominant ethnic group destroys a signifi cant part of another group which it fears will take its place as the dominant group” (Fein).14 Subaltern genocide, though, evinces a rather diff erent retributive dynamic, one that emerges substantially from below, as we will explore in detail in these pages.

It is worth pointing out that the closest thing we have to a consensus defi ni-tion of genocide—that of the UN Genocide Convention—includes no statement


5

about the nature of the perpetrator, and nothing about the necessary power rela-tionship (e.g., dominant versus subordinate) between perpetrator and victim. In addition, a number of genocide scholars have been careful to frame their defi ni-tions to allow for cases where state agents are not paramount, and the “essen-tial defencelessness” of victims does not obtain. Barbara Harff and Ted Gurr, for example, emphasize “sustained policies by governing elites or their agents,” but also refer to “the case of civil war,” in which “either of the contending authori-ties” may be guilty of genocide (or “politicide”).15 John L. Th ompson and Gail A. Quets defi ne genocide as the “destruction of a social collectivity by whatever agents, with whatever intentions.”16

Th e role of subaltern actors in perpetrating genocide is largely unexplored in the genocide studies literature. But an attentive reader of that literature can nonetheless trace a skein through studies of genocide and crimes against human-ity that supplies a great many insights and useful analyses. Perhaps the most insightful accounts have concerned two of the most recent genocides to enshrine themselves in the “canon” of genocide studies: Cambodia from 1975 to 1978, and Rwanda from April to July 1994.

In Cambodia in 1975, the Khmer Rouge—“Red Khmer”—regime took power in the capital, Phnom Penh, aft er many years of combating government forces and gradually extending their power over the bomb-shattered Cambodian countryside. By the time they vanquished the U.S. client regime, they had developed a potent ideology of class revenge—this despite the fact that their leaders overwhelmingly were not of peasant stock but, like Pol Pot, were educated urbanites who had stud-ied overseas (and bonded) in Paris. One of their fi rst actions was to empty refugee-swollen Phnom Penh and force its 2 million residents into rural areas, where they toiled on ill-conceived mega-projects and, in many cases, starved to death or were simply executed. As the paranoia of the ruling clique mounted, entire regions of the country—notably the Eastern Zone along the Vietnamese border—were depicted as traitorous and subversive. Some 150,000 people were killed in the region for imputed crimes in 1977–78, prompting many middle-level Khmer Rouge leaders to fl ee into exile in Vietnam. Th ey would form the core of the proxy force that accompanied Vietnamese soldiers into Cambodia at the end of 1978, toppling the Khmer Rouge in January 1979 and pushing the remnants of the movement into the west of the country, where they remained a destabilizing terrorist threat for years aft erward. Between 1.5 million and 2 million Cambodians, out of a popu-lation of 8 million, died during the Khmer Rouge period. But it was some time before genocide scholars readily accepted the Cambodian events as a clear-cut case of genocide. In part, this was because the victims were generally of the same Khmer ethnic stock as the victims (though ethnic and religious minorities were ruthlessly targeted, in one case—that of the ethnic Chinese—to the point of total extermina-tion). It may also have refl ected the fact that, in an Orwellian turn of events, the communist Khmer Rouge aft er their overthrow became valued protégés of both the United States and China; regardless of their communist ideology and genocidal past, they were seen as a useful obstacle to “Vietnamese expansionism,” which was considered the main priority.

Introduction

6

Rwanda in 1994 stands as the fastest and most intensive genocide in the his-torical record, and, prior to the crisis in Darfur, the shameful nadir of the interna-tional community’s (in)capacity to intervene. Th ousands of foreign peacekeepers were on the ground when Hutu Power extremists launched their “fi nal solution” against ethnic Tutsis and moderate Hutus on April 7. But the foreign troops acted only to evacuate the few whites in the country, and themselves thereaft er. Th e skeleton force that remained in the capital, Kigali, could do little to stop the slaughter. With stunning rapidity, the genocidal impetus spread to every corner of the country; only Butare, in the south, held out until its moderate leadership was murdered and the genocide was extended to that prefecture. Tens of thou-sands of Tutsis at a time were herded into places of supposed refuge, especially religious and educational institutions, and killed there in acts of close-up carnage that recalled the worst months of the Nazi rampage in eastern Poland and the Soviet Union in 1941–42. Other Tutsis were hunted down singly and in small groups, in their urban hiding places and in fi elds, forests, hills, and marshes. Th e genocide only ebbed when the Tutsi-dominated Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) pushed government forces out of Kigali, into the southwest of the country, and thence into exile across the border in Zaire; by then, a million people had been murdered. Th e events have begun to assume something of the centrality, for a new generation of genocide scholars and activists, that the Nazi Holocaust held for an earlier generation.

Both the Cambodian and Rwandan holocausts were state-initiated and state-directed, following the familiar pattern. Both, however, featured an unusu-ally high degree of popular participation in genocidal killing. It is at this level of popular involvement that the element of subaltern genocide is most power-fully evident. In the Cambodian case, by the time the Khmer Rouge took power, their forces were composed of hundreds of thousands of peasant cadres, who had spent the previous years enduring the terror and dislocation of saturation bombing by U.S. B-52s—part of the most concentrated bombing campaign in history.17 Th e only parts of the country spared destruction were the cities, whose populations came to be viewed as being in traitorous league with the foreign superpower, and as lazy, corrupt, and decadent, in contrast with the noble but hard-pressed Cambodian peasant. When urban residents were forced into the countryside, they found themselves at the mercy of a population that, even if it was not formally integrated with the Khmer Rouge administration, regarded them with hostility—both for their presumed luxurious living while war raged in the countryside and for the strain they placed on scarce resources at the vil-lage level. Urbanites, the so-called “new people,” contrasted unfavorably with the “old people”—the peasants—who were the true backbone of Khmer identity and the communist revolution it had produced. Th e “new people” were assigned the harshest work for the longest hours and with the scarcest nutritional resources, and were widely perceived as receiving their comeuppance under the new order: “Sometimes the peasants, as well as the Khmer Rouge themselves, would say to the newcomers, ‘You used to be happy and prosperous. Now it’s our turn.’”18 Haing Ngor, a genocide survivor whose performance as Dith Pran in the fi lm


7

Th e Killing Fields did much to establish Cambodia as an accepted case of geno-cide, recalled an occasion during his time in the countryside:

At mealtime . . . I heard one nurse calling out to another, “Have you fed the war slaves yet?” It was a chance remark, but it stuck in my ears because it explained the Khmer Rouge better than anything else. All the talk about being comrades in a classless society, building the nation with our bare hands and struggling to achieve independence-sovereignty didn’t mean anything. Th e Khmer Rouge had beaten us in the civil war. We were their war slaves. Th at was all there was to it. Th ey were taking revenge.19

Refugee testimonies like the preceding are matched by scholarly evaluations that emphasize the role of subaltern peasant ideologies and actions as central to the suff ering that swept the country between 1975 and 1978. Michael Vickery contended that the revolutionary terror of the peasantry was the dominant dynamic of the post-1975 period.20 Elizabeth Becker’s account depicts the peas-antry as “form[ing] the visceral basis of the revolution and the totalitarianism it produced.”21 Th e most sophisticated analysis of the phenomenon, though, was produced by an anthropologist—and is featured in this volume. In a ground-breaking essay, originally published as “A Head for an Eye” and here excerpted as “Oppression and Vengeance in the Cambodian Genocide,” Alexander Laban Hinton set the subaltern vengefulness of Cambodian peasants and Khmer Rouge authorities against a cultural backdrop emphasizing the “model of dispropor-tionate revenge” alluded to in the title. As a result of these contributions, we now have a more nuanced understanding of the Cambodian genocide as generated both from above and from below.

Likewise, in Rwanda, the Hutu masses—composing about 85 percent of the population—had long chafed under Tutsi overlords, whose domination deepened under the colonial order that the Belgians imposed aft er World War I. Even when the Belgians switched sides to support the Hutu majority, and Rwanda attained independence in 1959 under a Hutu-dominated regime, the taint of subaltern sta-tus lingered for the Hutu population. A powerful image endured of Tutsis as physi-cally taller and more refi ned than Hutus, more intelligent, and more prosperous and successful. Tutsi women were stereotypically seen as more attractive and sexu-ally alluring. While Tutsi ethnic domination was suppressed in Rwanda, it was alive and well in next-door Burundi (where a genocide by the Tutsi-controlled army in 1972 destroyed most of the Hutu educated and professional classes). It also seemed to be encapsulated in the Rwandan Patriotic Front, which invaded Rwanda from their Ugandan exile in 1990. Exponents of Hutu Power found it relatively easy to depict the RPF, which occupied substantial areas of Rwanda at the time the geno-cide broke out, as seeking to reestablish Tutsi hegemony and return Hutus to their subaltern status—or exterminate them outright.22

Th ese subaltern frustrations and hostilities were a key ingredient in the apocalypse that descended in April 1994. As Mahmood Mamdani writes, “When political analysis presents the genocide as exclusively a state project and ignores its subaltern and ‘popular’ character it tends to reduce the violence to a set of

Introduction

8

meaningless outbursts, ritualistic and bizarre, like some ancient primordial twitch come to life.” For Mamdani, although the genocide was “organized by state func-tionaries,” it was “carried out by subaltern masses,” and this “salient political fact” must be represented in any nuanced analysis of the events.23 Gérard Prunier has provided a vivid image of the explosive energies unleashed during the genocide:

In Kigali the [militias] . . . had tended to recruit mostly among the poor. As soon as they went into action, they drew around them a cloud of even poorer people, a lumpenproletariat of street boys, rag-pickers, car-washers and homeless unem-ployed. For these people the genocide was the best thing that could ever hap-pen to them. Th ey had the blessings of a form of authority to take revenge on socially powerful people as long as these [victims] were on the wrong side of the political fence. Th ey could steal, they could kill with minimum justifi cation, they could rape and they could get drunk for free. Th is was wonderful. Th e political aims pursued by the masters of this dark carnival were quite beyond their scope. Th ey just went along, knowing it would not last.24

Th e killing strategies employed featured a potent symbolic dimension, again attesting to the subaltern energies unleashed by the genocide. Th e Nyarabongo River, a tributary of the Nile, was choked with Tutsi corpses; the killers saw them-selves as returning Tutsis to their supposed Nilotic origins in classical Egyptian and Nubian civilization. Tutsi victims were frequently decapitated, or had arms, legs, and genitals hacked off by machetes, thereby physically reducing them in size (recall that their average greater height had been viewed as a marker of their superiority). Cutting victims’ Achilles tendons while leaving them alive likewise meant cutting them down to size and reducing them to crawling like cockroaches, the way they were depicted in Hutu hate propaganda. Th e extraordinary sexual savagery, including ritual mutilations infl icted on Tutsi women, was a similarly vengeful way to bring about the comeuppance of Rwanda’s erstwhile sexual elite. Th e notable, indeed unprecedented, participation of women as agents of the kid-napping, rape, torture, and murder of Tutsi women seems to have been imbued by a gendered sense of class revenge.25

As these treatments of the Cambodian and Rwandan holocausts suggest, attention to the subaltern strain has not been entirely lacking in genocide studies. Hinton’s analysis of the dynamics of the Cambodian violence provides a multifac-eted portrait of subaltern energies unleashed with the authorization and direction of state authorities, and in the context of longstanding cultural traits that encour-aged them. Th e title of Mahmood Mamdani’s study of Rwanda, When Victims Become Killers, is as succinct a summary of the dynamics of subaltern genocide as exists in the literature, and represents the most explicit framing of a genocide’s subaltern component anywhere in genocide studies. Arguably the most sustained exploration of genocides committed by subaltern actors, as expressions of revenge and millennial yearnings, is off ered by the lead editor of this volume, Nicholas Robins, in his study of three Indian uprisings in the Americas: the Pueblo Revolt of 1680 in New Mexico, the Great Rebellion of 1780–82 in Peru and Upper Peru, and the Caste War of Yucatán of 1847–1900 in Mexico.26 While separated in dis-tance and in time, the rebellions were all millennially inspired, charismatically


9

led subaltern movements in which the elimination of Hispanics and their culture was seen as the means of establishing a native utopia. In each case, the rebels were fi ghting a well-organized and generally better armed, if poorly disciplined, army. Furthermore, for the rebels, genocide was not an expression of state policy, but rather was aimed at establishing an independent state—which in the cases of New Mexico and Yucatán, it did. With the exception of New Mexico during the rebellion, what is also notable is the decentralization of leadership in Yucatán and Peru and Upper Peru, where it was highly fragmented, confederational, and anything but bureaucratic.

Reading beyond the literature that has a self-declared focus on genocide, a number of other sources provide notable insights. John Sack’s provocative 2000 book An Eye for an Eye describes the oft en brutal actions of Jews, including for-mer concentration-camp inmates, who were placed in positions of authority in detention facilities for offi cials and functionaries of the vanquished Nazi regime (see further in chapter 9).27 Alfred-Maurice de Zayas’s study A Terrible Revenge focuses upon the mass uprootings and systematic atrocities perpetrated against ethnic-German populations in the former Nazi-occupied territories of Central Europe.28 Th e case is explored in detail in this volume by Eric Langenbacher.

Contributions from other literatures are cited and explored by the various scholars represented here. Before closing this section, however, it is important to mention the fi eld that, at fi rst glance, would seem to off er a rich wellspring of material: that of subaltern studies. As Mohammed Ayoob notes, “Th e dictionary defi nition of the term subaltern denotes those that are weak and of inferior rank”; fi rst employed as a social-scientifi c concept by Antonio Gramsci, the fi eld of sub-altern studies drew as well on “the subaltern school of history, composed primar-ily of historians of India, that is engaged in studying the role of the less powerful elements—peasants, artisans, and so on—within societies, elements that form a majority within their societies but whose histories are ignored by elitist histor- i ography of the traditional kind, which tends to focus on the activities of the power-ful.”29 Another classic text of subaltern studies is Frantz Fanon’s 1961 work, Th e Wretched of the Earth. Fanon, who was born in the French colony of Martinique, eloquently sketched the material and symbolic means by which colonial oppres-sors maintained the colonized in a state of subaltern oppression. Subaltern vio-lence, in Fanon’s scheme, was millennial in nature, “a cosmic force needed to cleanse the universe in order to achieve salvation,” as Eric Wolf summarized it.30 It was also a reaction against deeply ingrained psychologies of humiliation and subjugation—a means of throwing off the chains of oppression, and reclaiming dignity and autonomy. In his famous preface to Fanon’s book, the French phi-losopher Jean-Paul Sartre summarized this vision of subaltern violence:

Th e native cures himself of colonial neurosis by thrusting out the settler through force of arms. When his rage boils over, he rediscovers his lost innocence and he comes to know himself in that he himself creates his self. Far removed from his war, we consider it as a triumph of barbarism; but of its own volition it achieves, slowly but surely, the emancipation of the rebel, for bit by bit it destroys in him and around him the colonial gloom. Once begun, it is a war that gives no quarter.

Introduction

10

You may fear or be feared; that is to say, abandon yourself to the disassociations of a sham existence or conquer your birthright of unity. When the peasant takes a gun in his hands, the old myths grow dim and the prohibitions are one by one forgotten. . . . Th e child of violence, at every moment he draws from it his humanity. We [colonizers] were men at his expense, he makes himself man at ours: a diff erent man; of higher quality.31

Fanon’s work provides exemplary insights into the psychology of subaltern vio-lence. Th e fi eld of subaltern studies that took its inspiration in part from Fanon, however, has focused far more extensively on the material and symbolic violence done to subaltern populations, and hardly at all on the violence committed by them. Th e former is a highly worthwhile inquiry, and has produced work that ranges from the valuable and memorable to the stilted and opaque. In general, it has contributed relatively little to the examination of the theory and praxis of subaltern revolt and violent retribution.

Challenges and Conundrums

One of the greatest diffi culties in exploring subaltern genocide is diff erentiating between objective subaltern status and subjective perceptions of that status. Th e diffi culty arises from the fact that genocidal perpetrators rarely perceive them-selves in a position of unchallenged dominance. Th ey usually feel—or claim to feel—vulnerable and under imminent threat of destruction. Paranoia, aft er all, is almost a universal feature among elites who infl ict genocide. Even in the case of the Nazi Holocaust—the case that is oft en cited as exhibiting the “essential defenselessness” of victims in the starkest terms, and the widest possible power gap between killers and their victims—Nazi leaders apparently fervently believed that Jews constituted an all-powerful and all-pervading threat. In the summary of Raul Hilberg, the doyen of Holocaust studies:

Th e Jews were [seen as] inciters of revolt; that was why they had to be deported. . . . Th e Jews were the organizers of the partisan war, the “middlemen” between the Red Army and the partisan fi eld command; that was why they could not be permitted to remain alive in partisan-threatened areas. Th e Jews were the sab-oteurs and assassins; that was why the army chose them as hostages in Russia, Serbia, and France. Th e Jews were plotting the destruction of Germany; and that was why they had to be destroyed. In Himmler’s words: “We had the moral right vis-à-vis our people to annihilate this people which wanted to annihi-late us.” In the minds of the perpetrators, therefore, this theory could turn the destruction process into a kind of preventive war.32

It is a straightforward matter to dismiss this as fantasy, as demonstrated by the fact that the supposedly omnipotent Jews proved utterly unable to resist the Nazis’ genocidal designs against them. We contend in this volume that subaltern status can usually be demonstrated objectively. It may be evident in some or all of the following: a longstanding and generally recognized history of political subordi-nation and material under privilege; explicit measures of political and economic


11

discrimination imposed upon subaltern populations; relative underprivilege with regard to life expectancy, fi nancial wealth, housing, nutritional resources, educational resources, political representation, and other indices; statistical over-representation among incarcerated populations and victims of violence; and vic-timization by symbolic forms of discrimination and violence, in the form of hate propaganda and pervasive cultural stereotyping.

Reference to these measures helps us to navigate and better understand com-plex cases of genocide, for example those in Cambodia and Rwanda. In the fi rst, we have seen that the most vociferous expressions of subaltern ideology were made by members of an educated elite (the Khmer Rouge leadership). However, the masses mobilized by such ideologies to participate in the genocide and serve as its foot soldiers—Cambodian peasants—were demonstrably underprivileged in the Cambodian social equation (not least, in this case, by the massive bombing campaign directed against their lives and livelihoods). Likewise, and somewhat more ambiguously, Hutu Power in Rwanda arose in a context in which Hutu eth-nic dominance had been offi cially entrenched since 1959. Nonetheless, the post-1959 era unfolded against a backdrop of historical Tutsi dominance, which per-sisted in the form of cultural stereotypes of Tutsi physical, cultural, and material superiority, held by Hutus and Tutsis alike. Moreover, the crisis of 1993–94 arose in a context in which Tutsi soldiers and politicians were to be granted, under the Arusha peace accords, a place in the political and military order that far exceeded their statistical representation in the Rwandan population. Regardless of the merits of the peace agreement, there was clearly pro-Tutsi discrimination; widespread feelings of impending Hutu dispossession, even mass extermination, were not purely fantasy.

Th e issues become more clouded when we shift from the national to the local level. How, for example, do we view violence against “market-dominant minori-ties” (Amy Chua’s term) in ethnically divided states? Groups as diverse as European Jews, ethnic Chinese in Southeast Asia, Indians in East Africa, Arabs in Latin America, and Koreans in U.S. inner cities have pursued entrepreneurial occupa-tions that have won them a degree of economic privilege, but also increased their social vulnerability as visible minorities. Are the populations who act in a hostile fashion toward these minorities, and infl ict violence in the form of pogroms or race-riots, actually subaltern agents lashing out against real oppressors? We sug-gest that while the agents of violence may well and rightly claim subaltern status, their vision of market-dominant minorities as oppressive elites is usually drasti-cally misguided. In reality, such violence generally has two distinct sets of roots. First, it derives from feelings of envy mingled with fear at those who have achieved greater success—here, entrepreneurial success—than oneself. Th e sociologist Donald L. Horowitz, in his book Th e Deadly Ethnic Riot, has referred to subal-tern populations’ “recurrent fear of being swallowed by those who are more adept at manipulating the external environment,” something that “points to the utter helplessness underpinning the violence of those who feel backward.”33 It does not, however, point to any objective relationship of exploitation or oppression between the two sets of actors. Such a relationship lies elsewhere, suggesting that such

Introduction

12

subaltern violence also has roots in “false consciousness,” according to which vul-nerable minorities who happen to be nearby, easily recognizable, and vulnerable are targeted as scapegoats. It is hardly surprising that the true agents of oppression may actively encourage subaltern populations to lash out against these scapegoats, as ruling authorities in Eastern Europe long promoted anti-Jewish pogroms and as Uganda’s Idi Amin did against East Indians, as a means of defl ecting the violent frustrations of the masses.

In some cases, the victims of such subaltern violence may share an ethnic identifi cation with actors who do hold a disproportionate amount of economic or political power—as most of the big-business magnates under the Suharto regime of Indonesia, for example, were drawn from the ethnic Chinese minority. Th is serves as a further reminder that many victims of subaltern genocide are sub-sumed, by perpetrators’ imputation, into a wider group identity—usually ethni-cally or religiously defi ned and stereotyped. Th us, for example, the representatives of previously Nazi-occupied populations who from 1945 to 1947 infl icted large-scale violence and dispossession on ethnic Germans selected their victims because of the ethnic attributes they shared with their former oppressors. No attempt was made to ascertain whether particular members of those populations had collab-orated with the Nazi occupation forces; the collectivity was simply targeted en masse. Likewise, Tutsis in Rwanda were depicted as the fi ft h-column agents of the powerful Tutsi-led rebel forces based in Uganda. Th ere is no evidence that Rwandan Tutsis were involved on a signifi cant or even measurable scale with the rebel movement; but this was irrelevant to the purveyors of Hutu Power, and the subaltern masses who imbibed their hateful message.

Outline of This Volume

Despite the oft en memorable treatments referenced earlier in this chapter, the lit-erature of genocide studies still lacks a broad-based comparative framing of sub-altern genocide. Th e intention of Genocides by the Oppressed is to explore more deeply and systematically the nature and dynamics of subaltern genocide; to draw together a range of materials from the early modern, modern, and contemporary periods; to evaluate subaltern genocide as a psychological phenomenon, both in the context of humiliation studies and from an evolutionary-psychological per-spective; and to explore the subaltern strain of the “genocidal continuum,” Nancy Scheper-Hughes’s term for more quotidian and institutionalized expressions of the genocidal impulse.

A recurring theme of the volume is symbolic expressions of subaltern vio-lence. Th ese are explored by Nicholas Robins in “Symbolism and Subalternity: Th e 1680 Pueblo Revolt of New Mexico and the 1780–82 Andean Great Rebellion.” In the case of the Pueblo Revolt, the Indians of what is today New Mexico had experienced a demographic implosion of up to 90 percent between 1580 and 1680. While disease was a major cause, its eff ects were amplifi ed by Hispanic exploitation, population dislocation, and a concerted and consistent eff ort by the


13

colonizers to destroy the religious and cultural fabric of native society. Aft er sev-eral abortive attempts, a long-planned and highly coordinated genocidal uprising in 1680 was successful in expelling the colonists from the region, and led to the return of native rule in the region for the next twelve years. One hundred years later, the Great Rebellion in the Andes had similar objectives, and although it was ultimately defeated, its regional scope, exterminatory objectives, and massive scale provided the largest single challenge to Spanish rule in the Americas prior to the wars of independence.

Th ese insurgents left little in terms of a written record, save confessions ex-tracted under force, and occasionally correspondence, draft ed by scribes who were oft en rebel captives. It was in their actions, both physical and symbolic, that the rebels spoke both loudly and clearly. On the physical level, they systematically exterminated their enemies, both military and civilian, identifying them not only on the basis of race, but also of ethnicity. One’s skin color, occupation, primary language, and religion served to identify victims as Hispanics, as did more mun-dane habits such as their style of dress and the foods they ate. Indeed, the manner of choosing victims in these and similar uprisings casts indigenous concepts of identity in sharp relief. Th e systematic nature of the killings, the deliberate target-ing of noncombatants, and the selection of victims on racial and ethnic grounds underscore the genocidal nature of these insurgencies.

Th e symbolic discourse of the rebels corroborates the exterminatory nature of their enterprise, and underscores that it was as much of a physical, terrestrial con-fl ict as one between perceived supernatural powers. Such expression was chosen from many alternatives, and was oft en directed at fi gures and symbols of colonial authority, both secular and religious. Generally, symbolic discourse involved the ridicule and humiliation of colonial offi cials prior to their execution, the inversion of colonial relationships, the systematic destruction of liturgical articles, and occa-sionally the superimposition of symbols. For example, in the Great Rebellion, the rebels oft en executed colonial offi cials at the rollo, a stone column which symbol-ized Spanish authority and also oft en served as a whipping post. To kill a colonial offi cial there not only inverted previous relationships, but also underscored the “death” of colonial authority generally. Similarly, gathering the Hispanic victims of the rebellion and depositing them at the rollo, or placing decapitated heads upon the rollo, conveyed the same message. By examining the symbolic nature of rebel expression in these insurgencies, we can better fathom the depth of their objec-tives and corroborate the genocidal nature of these insurgencies. In so doing, it becomes clear that far from being inarticulate, many insurgents spoke clearly and cogently through their actions.

Chapter 2, “On the Genocidal Aspect of Certain Subaltern Uprisings: A Re -search Note,” builds on Robins’s analysis of subaltern genocide in the Andean and North American contexts, as well as the discussion of the Haitian, Cambodian, and Rwandan cases in this introduction. Adam Jones off ers an illustrative, though hardly exhaustive, overview of subaltern-genocidal tendencies in slave rebellions such as Nat Turner’s in the United States in 1831; anti-colonial uprisings, such as other Native revolts in the Americas, the Algerian uprising against French rule,

Introduction

14

and contemporary events in Tibet; and peasant rebellions and social revolutions in France, England, Algeria, and elsewhere. Th e aim is to supplement the empiri-cal data presented elsewhere in the volume, further demonstrating that subaltern-genocidal ideologies and practices are evident at numerous and diverse points in the historical record.

Th e book then moves decisively to the record of the bloody twentieth century. Although distinct from genocide, ethnic cleansing is oft en its handmaiden. In “Ethical Cleansing? Th e Expulsion of Germans from Central and Eastern Europe,” Eric Langenbacher examines the controversial case of the forced removal of ethnic Germans from Nazi-occupied European territories in the aft ermath of World War II. In this process, Polish and Central European groups which had been relegated to subaltern status during the war engaged in a concerted and comprehensive eff ort to rid their territories of Germans and individuals of Germanic origin, most of whom were civilians.

Langenbacher begins by tracing the origins of Germanic people in Central and Eastern Europe, demonstrating that this group was both well established and for the most part integrated into their respective societies long before the twentieth century. Underscoring this is the fact that the Poland of 1919 had over 2 million Germans within its borders, although hundreds of thousands would subsequently emigrate as a result of the Polonization polices during the inter-war years. With the rise of Nazi Germany, however, Hitler sought to reverse this process by increasing the German population in Poland and elsewhere, at the expense of Poles and Czechs generally and Jews in particular. Indeed, by the early 1940s, over 1 million Poles had been displaced as a result of such policies.

With Germany’s defeat, and the Red Army, looming on the horizon in 1944, the pendulum yet again began to swing the other way, and the “largest example of ethnic cleansing in world history” occurred, targeting some 12 to 15 million Germans and costing up to 2 million of them their lives. As most of the men in the region had long since joined the war eff ort, women, children, and the elderly bore the brunt. Although part of this exodus was undertaken to avoid the approach-ing Soviet army, the communists sought to spur the process through rapes and massacres, as depopulated areas were both easier to control and to retain. Th e Soviets were not the only ones pursuing ethnic cleansing, and numerous exile governments had longstanding plans to implement such policies. Even aft er the war, between 1946 and 1950, the exodus continued, although in a more orderly manner. Langenbacher emphasizes that the process was aimed not only at the expulsion of Germanic people, but at the “erasure” of German culture and its sym-bols in the region; both goals were achieved.

Having detailed the processes of expulsion, Langenbacher explores the ways in which postwar governments have viewed these events. Generally, the commu-nist governments and intellectuals presented the issue as one of collective guilt borne by the German people: as a necessary and inevitable consequence of the war, or as a “settling of accounts,” to be expected in such situations. Th is attitude began to change in the 1960s, led by churches in Poland and Germany, which sought to recognize the two-sided nature of the injustices committed. In com-


15

munist Czechoslovakia, opposition groups in the 1970s saw the expulsion as a means of undermining the legitimacy of the communist government. Although the postcommunist era has witnessed a greater willingness to confront the reali-ties of history, this process has not been without confl ict, and empathy for the displaced Germans is oft en equated with minimizing Nazi horrors. Langenbacher concludes that the continued emphasis on collective guilt as a justifi cation for the expulsions and the rejection of the idea of victimhood for those displaced civilians form the intellectual basis for this “ultimate example of ethical cleansing.”

Th e important role of retribution in motivating and perpetrating subaltern genocide in Central Europe is also central to Alexander Laban Hinton’s study of the Khmer Rouge in “Oppression and Vengeance in the Cambodian Genocide,” drawn from his book Why Did Th ey Kill? Framing his study with quotations by both victims and perpetrators, Hinton details how the Khmer Rouge harnessed rural resentment of more prosperous urban areas, and skillfully transformed it into a “burning rage” which could only be sated by disproportionate revenge against this group. Urbanites were not only seen as exploiters of the peasantry, but were further discredited by their embrace of foreign, Western, values. Th is is ironic, given that Pol Pot and much of the Khmer leadership were educated in Paris and their communist ideology was a European creation.

Th e “burning rage” against class enemies did not simply stem from eco-nomic exploitation, but was exacerbated by harking back to the era of the Angkor empire’s splendor and regional dominance. Th is glorious history was set against the Cambodia of the 1970s, one that was under overwhelming foreign infl uence—a fact that was painfully brought home to many rural inhabitants by the massive bombings to which the United States subjected the country during the Vietnam War. A fi nal ingredient was the millennial vision proff ered by the Khmer Rouge, promising almost instant development and industrial progress through strict autarky, science, and social engineering. Th e future they were creating would, in their view, inevitably exceed even the glories of the past.

Th e road to this future was paved with disproportionate revenge. As Hinton notes, the goal was not “an eye for an eye,” but rather “a head for an eye.” Once ignited, this anger among the population could be directed at various targets, such as class enemies, political enemies, urbanites, and the international community. All of these factors intersected, as political power, wealth, and a foreign presence all converged in Phnom Penh, which was seen as a lair of corruption, decadence, and exploitation.

Having attained power, the Khmer Rouge initially focused their violence upon members and sympathizers of the Lon Nol regime, up to 200,000 of whom were systematically executed. Th e root-and-branch approach to social transfor-mation did not stop there, however. By 1977, it had extended to the educated, professional, bureaucratic, and urban classes in general. Dispatched to the coun-tryside, they became “new people,” dehumanized slaves of the former underclass. Many who did not die as a result of their living conditions were later executed. As we saw in the Great Rebellion in the Andes, social inversion was oft en a prelude to death.

Introduction

16

Hinton also explores the use of symbolism by the Khmer Rouge to advance their goals and reinforce their power. Th e red of their fl ag, to which the national anthem referred, was not so much communist in nature as symbolizing the blood red of violence and revenge. Images of blood informed many cultural expressions, such as songs and dances, and these merged “a number of powerful themes: exis-tential threat, bodily and social disequilibrium, anger and rage, sorrow and loss, and violence against the enemy.” Decapitation of one’s enemies also had symbolic value, beyond that of “a head for an eye.” In Cambodian culture, the head refl ects both status, intelligence, and the ability to communicate. Decapitation, physically and symbolically, eliminated these attributes.

Just as the Khmer Rouge utilized the past to frame their concept of the future, the power of memory provided a strong impetus for the Serbian genocide in the Balkans. In “From Jasenovac to Srebrenica: Subaltern Genocide and the Serbs,” David B. MacDonald traces the origins of Serb perceptions of victimhood and the role these played in fomenting and implementing the genocide against Croats and Moslems in the 1990s. Th is sense of victimhood, and the desire for revenge and legitimization of violence which it engendered, has its origins in the Battle of Kosovo in 1389, which resulted in Serbian defeat and ushered in nearly a half-mil-lennium of Ottoman control. Th e enduring humiliation this produced was rein-forced by signifi cant losses in World War I.

Th e Second World War, however, provided a modern and incendiary refer-ent for Serbian perceptions of oppression by non-Serbs, with the Jasenovac con-centration camp complex serving as a real, and symbolic, ground zero for Serbian victimization. Here, between 1941 and 1945, under the Croatian fascist regime, thousands of Serbs, along with Gypsies, Jews, communists, and others deemed undesirable, were executed or died as a result of torture and atrocious conditions. MacDonald notes that a collective, multigenerational feeling of victimization resulted, providing important fodder for ultranationalist propaganda and calls for revenge. Th is ultimately exploded in the early 1990s, as Serbian forces sought to dominate Bosnia and Croatia through ethnic cleansing, gender-selective mass killing of males, sexual violence against females, and the widespread destruction of cultural symbols such as houses of worship.

In 1995, Serbian forces attacked the U.N. safe haven of Srebrenica. Th ey fi rst isolated it, then prohibited the delivery of supplies, and later attacked it directly. Upon entering the city, in the face of only tepid opposition by U.N. peacekeepers, the Serbs began systematically to round up and remove civilians. In this process, men of fi ghting age were separated and escapees were hunted down in surround-ing hills. Ultimately, thousands of Bosnian Muslim men were executed and bur-ied in mass graves. MacDonald notes that while Srebrenica was important from a military perspective, its capture also had an important symbolic value, as it was intended to be a Bosnian Moslem area under the Dayton Accords. Its fall to the Serbs would send a clear message to the Bosnian Muslims that their presence there, and in the region, was untenable. In the genocide trials that followed, the symbolic importance of the city to the Bosnian Muslims was recognized, raising the issue of people being killed not only because of their religion and ethnicity,


17

but also their physical location—presenting something of a conundrum for stu-dents of genocide and international law.

MacDonald closes by examining Serbian scholarly perceptions of their his-tory, and concludes that the pervasive lack of self-criticism bodes ill for the future. He notes a tendency to exaggerate the Serbian deaths at Jasenovac, a conspiratorial view that Croats and the Vatican are in league to destroy the Eastern Orthodox church, a general sense that other nations are anti-Serb, and the continuing resis-tance of many Serbs to recognize the scale of atrocities in Srebrenica. As a result, MacDonald concludes that it “is doubtful that Serbian nationalists will thus learn anything from history, save for those selective lessons they choose to interpret through a decidedly narrow nationalist lens.”

Such selective perception is also evident in “Visions of the ‘Oppressor’ in Rwanda’s Pre-Genocidal Media,” in which Christopher Taylor explores the rela-tionship between idealized, oft en colonially derived portrayals of Tutsi, and deeply rooted Hutu feelings of inferiority. Without minimizing the political and ethnic basis of the genocide, he emphasizes the oft en-overlooked role of words and images in spawning the genocide, and—most important—what they reveal about contradictions and ambiguities in Hutu identity, especially with regard to Tutsi women.

As free media emerged in Rwanda in the context of increasing democrati-zation in the 1990s, political parties, and even factions within parties, began to publish their own newspapers and magazines. Not only did many publications espouse radical and racist ideologies, but they were aff ordably priced and oft en employed cartoons to engage less literate audiences. Such images dehumanized their Tutsi adversaries and revealed a Hutu identity that was signifi cantly shaped by insecurity and envy as a result of prior Tutsi dominance. Despite their being the majority of the population and the post-1959 rulers of Rwanda, Taylor argues, the Hutu retained a distinctly subaltern identifi cation, based on perceptions of oppression by Tutsi and inferiority toward them. Th is psychic oppression, he sug-gests, facilitated the genocide.

Taylor examines these dynamics with special attention to what they show about fears and desires concerning gender and sexuality. Such expressions became highly politicized—both describing widely held feelings among a group, and tacitly or otherwise calling for action to purge fears and achieve pragmatic ends and desires. Within this context, Taylor probes the symbolic signifi cance of such actions as impaling, castration, and sexual violence. It is in this last category that the ambiguities of Hutu identity were most strikingly exemplifi ed. Hutu propaganda urging fellow Hutu to shun Tutsi women refl ected not only issues of racial purity, but socially ingrained perceptions dating from the colonial era that held Tutsi women to be more beautiful and desirable. Hutu propaganda consistently presented Tutsi women as harlots, prone to sexual deviance and to collaborating with foreigners as well as with the rebel Rwandan Patriotic Front. At another level, however, such propaganda sought to dissuade Hutu men from succumbing to the charms of Tutsi females. Taylor underscores this by pointing out that the fi rst three injunctions of the “Hutu Ten Commandments” centered

Introduction

18

on this issue, with the emphasis on Hutu women’s beauty serving precisely to reveal Hutu doubts on this score. As Taylor notes, “Such evidence of a lingering inferiority complex may partly account for the degree of sadism unleashed by Hutu death squads against Tutsi.”

Feelings of inferiority and their manifestations are central to “Genocide, Humiliation, and Inferiority: An Interdisciplinary Perspective,” in which physician and psychologist Evelin G. Lindner examines the complex and oft en paradoxical dynamics which link genocide and the humiliation of its victims. Humiliation, or “the enforced lowering of a person or group, a process of subjugation that dam-ages or strips away their pride, honor or dignity,” is not just about power. Rather, it oft en prompts perpetrators to seek revenge for past humiliations, perceived or otherwise. It may also represent an eff ort to cleanse fears of future subjection, or purge feelings of admiration for their victims.

Humiliation by its nature is multifaceted, incorporating both actions and emotions. People react diff erently to this process, although depression, anger, and a thirst for revenge are the principal responses. So strong are these feelings, and the fear of them, Lindner argues, that humiliation is “the nuclear bomb of the emo-tions,” and one that can be readily exploited by leaders with genocidal objectives. From this perspective, Lindner explores the “dynamic of humiliation” and asks if “genocide is more about humiliation than about killing,” suggesting that “perhaps killing is rather part of humiliation than vice versa.” Lindner also challenges the idea of genocide as advancing the “rational self-interest of the perpetrators,” not-ing that in most cases, the perpetrators’ goals are not achieved and that those who sought to be the benefi ciaries of genocide end up in a worse situation than before. Th e result could be termed a dialectic of humiliation, for while humiliation sets the stage and enables the genocidal dynamic, in the end it is oft en reasserted by the defeat of the genocidal enterprise.

Lindner situates her approach in the larger context of an emerging tran-sition from traditional hierarchal societies, “grounded in ranked honor, ” to a global society which respects the equal and inherent dignity of each individual. As more people become aware of human rights, a process of conversion occurs, and a sense of relative deprivation sets in. As a result, established and exploit-ative hierarchies lose their legitimacy, and a gap emerges between people’s actual station in life and the one they feel is due them. With this conversion, people may grow ashamed of their subservience. If it is left unmediated by leaders who espouse nonviolent methods, and is instead carried to a genocidal level by fol-lowers and leaders alike, subaltern groups do not simply eliminate their ene-mies; they also seek to purge their own feelings of humiliation by exterminating their oppressors, whether perceived or real. On this basis, Lindner suggests that ethnic cleansing designates more than the removal of another ethnic group: it refl ects the perpetrator’s desire to purge his or her own feelings of inferiority, even admiration, toward the victims. Within this context, Lindner emphasizes that leadership is a fulcrum in dealing with feelings of humiliation. Where a Nelson Mandela can constructively lead his people to a better life, an Adolf Hitler can perpetrate a holocaust.


19

Th e role of hierarchy is also a central theme of “Evolution, Primates, and Subaltern Genocide,” where E. O. Smith places subaltern genocide within the larger context of evolutionary biology through probing the relationship between evolution, genocide from below, and primate behavior. Not only does such an approach broaden our understanding of the nature of intraspecifi c aggression, but it also has implications in terms of preventing genocidal events, subaltern and otherwise.

Smith establishes the context for his analysis by off ering a review of evolu-tionary theory, beginning with a critique of the Standard Social Science Model and subsequently discussing natural selection, intraspecifi c competition, direct and indirect genetic fi tness, and the various forces which alter genotypes over time. On this basis, he compares intraspecifi c killing among mammals, discuss-ing infanticide as well as intra- and intergroup killing, and the role of coalition-building in these processes. In the case of intergroup killings among chimpan-zees, such events are usually marked by coalitions among the perpetrators, who tend to attack when the risk to themselves is minimal. Further, while females may be among the aggressors, the coalitions are usually predominantly male, as are the victims. Th e extermination of entire groups, however, is very rare among chimpanzees, as attacks are not usually coordinated at a large group level, and violence tends to be more opportunistic than strategic. Furthermore, although there is evidence of retributive violence among chimpanzees, it is rare. Also rel-evant in this regard is the scale of violence, as humans, unlike chimpanzees, use weapons which increase the destructive impact.

Despite these diff erences, Smith emphasizes that environmental factors, es-pecially constrained resources, are key in precipitating violence among primates in general, and as a result does not preclude the possibility of subaltern genocide among primates. Nevertheless, he concludes that “subaltern genocide among humans is an elaboration on a theme rather than something that is fundamentally distinct from chimpanzee behavior” and it appears that “humans are the only ani-mal species in which oppressed groups seek to gain revenge and liberation by lethal aggression against their oppressors.”

Th e volume closes with Adam Jones’s chapter, “‘When the Rabbit’s Got the Gun’: Subaltern Genocide and the Genocidal Continuum,” which builds on Nancy Scheper-Hughes’s concept of the “genocidal continuum” as a profusion of “small wars and invisible genocides” carried out in “normative, ordinary social spaces,” especially institutional ones like nursing homes and jails. Scheper-Hughes con-siders her task “to draw connections, to make predictions, to sensitize people to genocidal-like practices and sentiments hidden within the perfectly acceptable and normative behavior of ordinary, good-enough citizens.” Th ese practices refl ect the broader “genocidal capacity” of human beings to be swayed by “social sentiments of exclusion, dehumanization, depersonalization, pseudo-speciation, and reifi cation which normalize and routinize behavior toward another or a class of others that would otherwise be seen as atrocious and unthinkable.”34

Jones’s chapter adopts a parallel rather than identical approach. It identifi es a “continuum” of subaltern genocide ranging from more symbolic/performative

Introduction

20

expressions of subaltern anger and frustration, through situations where subaltern actors infl ict atrocity in a context of localized and/or short-term hegemony, to fully fl edged campaigns of subaltern genocide. Among the symbolic expressions held to be part of this “continuum” are carnival in its various forms and the “androcidal” tendency in some feminist manifestos and literary fantasies. Among the instances of atrocity examined, meanwhile, are the Jewish-led campaign of vengeance against Germans at the end and in the wake of World War II, whether in prison camp set-tings, vigilante killings, or conspiracies of massive retribution; the alleged genocide of Afrikaner farmers in the post-Apartheid era; and other expressions of localized subaltern hegemony, such as hate crimes and other violence against members of an “oppressor” class. It is considered that other chapters in the volume, together with this introduction, provide suffi cient examples of fully fl edged subaltern genocides to justify excluding these from the concluding chapter.

Jones closes with a consideration of the analytical and theoretical implica-tions of the continuum of subaltern genocide. Th is section also serves as some-thing of a conclusion for the volume as a whole. It emphasizes the broader rel-evance of the subaltern-genocide framework for comparative genocide studies, with regard to such subjects as millennialism and utopianism as genocidal ideol-ogies, points of crossover between terrorism and genocide, and gender as a factor in genocidal outbreaks. As with the volume overall, the intent is partly to engage in a “plausibility probe” of the subaltern-genocide framework, and to encourage its further scholarly integration and exploration.

Notes 1. “Actuaciones anteriores ala formación de esta causa de Oruro,” 6; “El Corregor.

Dela Villa de Cochabamba sobre los destrozos que executaron los indios en Tapacari,” 1, 3, 5–9.

2. “Relación de los hechos más notables,” 170–71; “Actuaciones anteriores,” 23; “Con fesión de Josef Daga,” 12; “Carta de Estiban Lidosa a Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas,” 24; “Confesión de Lázaro Mamani,” 25; “Confesión de Sebastiana Mamani,” 25.

3. On the messianic aspect of the Great Rebellion, see Valle de Siles, Historia de la rebelión de Túpac Katari, 1781–82; Valle de Siles, “Túpac Katari y la rebelión de 1781: Radio grafía de un caudillo aymará,” 633–64; Stern, Resistance, Rebellion and Consciousness in the Andean Peasant World; Szeminski, La utopía Tupamarista; Szeminski, “Why Kill a Spaniard?”; Juan Ossio, Ideologia mesianica del mundo andino.

By contrast with the Haitian slave rebellion and other instances of subaltern revolt, such as the Caste War in Mexico in 1846–47, the Spanish did not respond to the Great Rebellion with a no-holds-barred, genocidal race war. Instead, they used a multifaceted approach to quell the uprising. Th ey off ered a general amnesty in early 1781 to all participants who would turn in ringleaders and return to their homes. Th ey also worked to establish alliances, oft en using the god-parentage ties with other Indian leaders, urging them to remain loyal to the government. As many of the leaders were direct benefi ciaries of the colonial system, these strategies had considerable success. Overall, the colonial authorities recognized that the mass of participants needed to be kept alive, so that aft er a Spanish victory they could return to their traditional role as a labor force for the colonial authority.


21

Th is was followed, however—as it had been preceded—by the Spaniards’ campaign of ethnocide (cultural genocide). Th e victors attempted to expunge all remnants of Inca heritage and consciousness. Th e position of curaca, or a local Indian chief, was eliminated, and all Incaic symbols were banned, such as royal clothing, paintings, and fl ags. While eff orts to eliminate native languages had begun as early as 1774, they were now expanded and reinvigorated with the banning of Quechua. In addition, books and plays associated with the Inca past were proscribed, and Indian communities came under the more direct control of Spaniards.

4. Hochschild, Bury the Chains, 257. 5. Ibid., 293. 6. Dubois, Avengers of the New World, 298. 7. Girard, “Caribbean Genocide: Racial War in Haiti, 1802–4,” 140. 8. For an overview of the Genocide Convention and scholarly defi nitions, see “Th e

Origins of Genocide,” chap. 1 in Jones, Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction, 3–38. 9. Horowitz, Taking Lives, 21. 10. Porter, “Introduction: What Is Genocide,” 14; Wallimann and Dobkowski, “Intro -

duction,” xvii–xxiv. 11. Dadrian, “A Typology of Genocide,” 202. Emphasis added. 12. Chalk and Jonassohn, Th e History and Sociology of Genocide, 23. 13. Charny, “Toward a Generic Defi nition of Genocide,” 91. 14. Dadrian, “A Typology of Genocide,” 207; Fein, comments on “Genocide and

Other State Murders in the Twentieth Century.” 15. Harff and Gurr, “Toward Empirical Th eory of Genocides and Politicides,” 360. 16. John L. Th ompson and Gail A. Quets, cited in Fein, “Defi ning Genocide as a

Socio logical Concept,” 406.17. Utilizing U.S. Strategic Bombing Survey data, Oxford University scholar Taylor

Owen has shown that 2,756,941 tons of bombs were dropped on 115,262 targets in Cambodia, in 230,516 sorties between 1965 and 1973. Th is is “fi ve times greater than believed and half of all that was dropped during the entire Indochinese campaign,” which was in turn “the most intense episode of aerial bombardment in history.” See Owen and Kiernan, “Bombs Over Cambodia.”

18. Refugee testimony cited in Kiernan and Boua, Peasants and Politics in Kampu-chea, 1942–81, 345–46.

19. Ngor, A Cambodian Odyssey, 202.20. Vickery, Cambodia 1975–1982, 66, 286–87; Vickery himself echoes the depiction

of Cambodia’s urban population as “spoiled, pretentious, contentious, status-conscious at worst, or at best simply soft , intriguing, addicted to city comforts and despising peasant life” (26).

21. Becker, When the War Was Over: Cambodia and the Khmer Rouge Revolution, 137.22. As Mahmood Mamdani points out, “Hutu Power” itself “had undertones of a

subaltern ideology, similar to Black Power in the United States, Black Consciousness in South Africa, or Dalit Power in India.” Mamdani, When Victims Become Killers, 269.

23. Ibid., 8, 185.24. Prunier, Th e Rwanda Crisis, 231–32.25. On the ritual dimension of the killing, see Taylor, Sacrifi ce as Terror. On the

participation of Hutu women, see African Rights, Rwanda: Not So Innocent; Jones, “Gen-der and Genocide in Rwanda,” 123.

26. Robins, Native Insurgencies and the Genocidal Impulse in the Americas.

Introduction

22

27. Sack, An Eye for an Eye.28. De Zayas, A Terrible Revenge.29. Ayoob, “Subaltern Realism,” 45.30. Wolf, Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century, 245–46.31. Jean-Paul Sartre, preface to Fanon, Th e Wretched of the Earth, 21–22.32. Hilberg, Th e Destruction of the European Jews, 3:1095. Emphasis added. Jeff rey

Herf ’s recent book Th e Jewish Enemy leaves little doubt about the extent of Nazi belief in this chimera, which avoided the obvious logical counter: “If international Jewry had organized an eff ective anti-German political conspiracy, why had it been incapable of placing any eff ective deterrent in the way of Hitler’s plans?” See Herf, Th e Jewish Enemy, 50.

33. Horowitz, Th e Deadly Ethnic Riot, 182.34. Scheper-Hughes, “Th e Genocidal Continuum: Peace-Time Crimes,” 32–34.

Works Cited“Actuaciones anteriores ala formación de esta causa de Oruro.” La Plata, February 22,

1781. Archivo General de Indias, Charcas 599.African Rights. Rwanda: Not So Innocent: When Women Become Killers. London: African

Rights, 1995.Ayoob, Mohammed. “Subaltern Realism: International Relations Th eory Meets the Th ird

World.” In International Relations Th eory and the Th ird World, ed. Stephanie G. Neuman. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998.

Becker, Elizabeth. When the War Was Over: Cambodia and the Khmer Rouge Revolution. New York: Public Aff airs, 1998.

“Carta de Estiban Lidosa a Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas.” La Plata, April 9, 1781. AGI, Charcas 603.

Chalk, Frank, and Kurt Jonassohn. Th e History and Sociology of Genocide. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991.

Charny, Israel. “Toward a Generic Defi nition of Genocide.” In Genocide: Conceptual and Historical Dimensions. Ed. George Andreopoulos. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1994.

“Confesión de Josef Daga.” La Plata, April 25, 1781. In “Criminales contra Nicolás Catari y otros indios.” AGI, Charcas 603.

“Confesión de Lázaro Mamani.” La Plata, April 18, 1781. AGI, Charcas 603, p. 25.“Confesión de Sebastiana Mamani.” La Plata, April 18, 1781. AGI, Charcas 603.Dadrian, Vahakn. “A Typology of Genocide.” International Review of Sociology 5 (1975):

201–12.Dubois, Lauren. Avengers of the New World: Th e Story of the Haitian Revolution. Cam-

bridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004.“El Corregor. Dela Villa de Cochabamba sobre los destrozos que executaron los indios

en Tapacari.” Oropesa, March 7, 1781, Archivo y Biblioteca Nacionales de Bolivia, SGI.1781.62

Fein, Helen. “Defi ning Genocide as a Sociological Concept.” In Th e Holocaust: A Reader. Ed. Simone Gigliotti and Berel Lang. London: Blackwell, 2005.

. “Genocide and Other State Murders in the Twentieth Century.” United States Holo caust Memorial Museum, October 24, 1995, http://www.ushmm.org/conscience/ analysis/details.php?content=1995-10-24-02.

Girard, Philippe R. “Caribbean Genocide: Racial War in Haiti, 1802–4.” Patterns of Pre-judice 39, no. 2 (2005): 138–61.


23

Harff , Barbara, and Ted Gurr. “Toward an Empirical Th eory of Genocides and Politicides: Identifi cation and Measurement of Cases since 1945.” International Studies Quarterly 32, no. 3 (1988): 139–64.

Herf, Jeff rey. Th e Jewish Enemy: Nazi Propaganda during World War II and the Holocaust. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2006.

Hilberg, Raul. Th e Destruction of the European Jews. 3rd ed. Vol. 3. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003.

Hinton, Alexander Laban. Why Did Th ey Kill? Cambodia in the Shadow of Genocide. Berk-eley: University of California Press, 2005.

Hochschild, Adam. Bury the Chains: Prophets and Rebels in the Fight to Free an Empire’s Slaves. Boston: Houghton Miffl in, 2005.

Horowitz, Donald L. Th e Deadly Ethnic Riot. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001.Horowitz, Irving Louis. Taking Lives: Genocide and State Power. New Brunswick, N.J.:

Transaction Books, 1997.Jones, Adam. “Gender and Genocide in Rwanda.” In Gendercide and Genocide, ed. Adam

Jones. Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2004, 98–137. . Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction. London: Routledge, 2006.Juan Ossio. Ideologia mesianica del mundo andino. Lima: I. Prado Pastor, 1973.Kiernan, Ben, and Chantal Boua. Peasants and Politics in Kampuchea, 1942–81. London:

Zed Press, 1982.Mamdani, Mahmood. When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and the Geno-

cide in Rwanda. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001.Ngor, Haing, with Roger Warner, A Cambodian Odyssey. New York: Macmillan, 1987.Owen, Taylor, and Ben Kiernan. “Bombs Over Cambodia.” Th e Walrus, October 2006.

http://www.walrusmagazine.com/articles/2006.10-history-bombing-cambodia.Porter, Jack N. “Introduction: What Is Genocide: Notes Toward a Defi nition.” In Genocide

and Human Rights: A Global Anthology, ed. Jack N. Porter. Washington, D.C.: Uni-versity Press of America, 1982.

Prunier, Gérard. Th e Rwanda Crisis: History of a Genocide. New York: Columbia Univer-sity Press, 1997.

“Relación de los hechos más notables acaecidos en la sublevación general fraguada en los reynos del Perú, por el indio José Gabriel Túpac Amaru, gobr. del pueblo de Tungasuca en la Provincia de Tinta, que asociado de otros sequaces, causó horrosos estragos desde el año 1780, hasta el de 1782 en que se reprimo el orgullo de la conjuración.” In Revista de archivos y bibliotecas nacionales 3, vol. 5. Lima, September 30, 1900, 141–298.

Robins, Nicholas A. Native Insurgencies and the Genocidal Impulse in the Americas. Bloom-ington: Indiana University Press, 2005.

Sack, John. An Eye for an Eye: Th e Story of Jews Who Sought Revenge for the Holocaust. 4th rev. ed. N.p., 2000.

Sartre, Jean-Paul. “Preface.” In Frantz Fanon, Th e Wretched of the Earth. New York: Grove Press, 1967.

Scheper-Hughes, Nancy. “Th e Genocidal Continuum: Peace-Time Crimes.” In Jeannette Mageo, ed., Power and the Self. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

Stern, Steve, ed. Resistance, Rebellion and Consciousness in the Andean Peasant World, Eighteenth to Twentieth Centuries. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987.

Szeminski, Jan. La utopía Tupamarista. Lima: Pontífi ca Universidad Católica del Perú, 1984. . “Why Kill A Spaniard? New Perspectives on Andean Insurrectionary Ide ology in

the 18th Century.” In Resistance, Rebellion and Consciousness in the Andean Peasant

Introduction

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World, Eighteenth to Twentieth Centuries, ed. Steve Stern. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987.

Taylor, Christopher C. Sacrifi ce as Terror: Th e Rwandan Genocide of 1994. Oxford: Berg, 1999.

Valle de Siles, María Eugenia. Historia de la rebelión de Túpac Katari, 1781–82. La Paz: Editorial Don Bosco, 1990.

. “Túpac Katari y la rebelión de 1781: Radiografía de un caudillo aymará.” Anu-ario de Estudios Americanos 34 (1977): 633–64.

Vickery, Michael. Cambodia 1975–1982. Boston: South End Press, 1984.Wallimann, Isidor, and Michael N. Dobkowski. “Introduction.” In Genocide and the Mod-

ern Age: Etiology and Case Studies of Mass Death, ed. Isidor Wallimann and Michael N. Dobkowski. New York: Greenwood Press, 1987.

Wolf, Eric R. Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century. New York: Harper Colophon, 1973.Zayas, Alfred-Maurice de. A Terrible Revenge: Th e Ethnic Cleansing of the East European

Germans. 2nd ed. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.


25

Symbolism and SubalternityThe 1680 Pueblo Revolt of New Mexico and

the 1780–82 Andean Great Rebellion

NICHOLAS A. ROBINS

The study of subaltern genocides in his tory poses special challenges. Sources are oft en quite limited and contradictory, especially in cases where the dominant group is successful in reestablishing authority. Nevertheless, pri-

mary sources may indicate that subaltern perpetrators of genocide speak not only directly through their actions, but also on a symbolic level. While such expres-sion is not limited to subaltern groups, in these cases it refl ects to some degree the relative importance of symbolic actions in the context of widespread illiteracy. As a result, symbolic expression provides a valuable window to an understanding of subaltern concepts of race, as well as the objectives and hopes which underpin them. Such expression in and of itself does not prove that genocide took place, but it is oft en valuable on a corroborative level. Th is essay examines two anti-colonial subaltern genocides that sought the elimination of Hispanics from the areas of present-day New Mexico in 1680 and Peru and Bolivia in 1780–1782.1

Understanding subaltern concepts of race and ethnicity is important, as these rebellions were complicated by the extensive participation of individuals of mixed parentage on both sides of the confl ict. Th ese include Mestizos2 and, especially in New Mexico, Lobos3 and Coyotes.4 While ethnicity primarily refl ects self-identifi -cation and expression, it can also be imputed by others. Apart from skin color, it was one’s occupation, social status, place of residence, religious orientation, pri-mary language, style of dress, and even eating habits that rebels oft en considered to determine whether a person was Indian or Hispanic. As a result, ethnicity and its associated cultural orientations resolved some of the ambiguities of mixed parentage. Among the leaders of the Pueblo Revolt were the Coyotes Francisco “El Ollita” and Nicolás Jonva of San Ildefonso, Alonso Catiti from Santo Domingo, and the Mulatto Domingo Naranjo from the pueblo of Santa Clara.5 In the Great Rebellion, the Peruvian leader Túpac Amaru was a Mestizo, and in Upper Peru Túpac Catari was light-skinned by Indian standards.6 Nevertheless, ethnically all these individuals, and large numbers of those whom they led, were Indians, and they fought for the rebirth of native ways. Refl ecting the high degree of

26

miscegenation (especially in the Andes) and the relatively few peninsular Spaniards in both regions, this chapter refers to Hispanics as an ethnic category subsuming those who maintained an Iberian cultural orientation, including Spaniards, Creoles, and oft en Mestizos and others of diverse descent.

The 1680 Revolt of the Pueblos in New Mexico

Having endured decades of disease, exploitation, and death at Hispanic hands, the inhabitants of the Pueblo region rebelled during the nighttime hours of August 10, 1680.7 In a long-planned and highly coordinated assault, they sought to exterminate the Hispanic colonists in the region in a single blow. Most victims were killed on sight, although some women were taken as captives. Th ose able to escape fl ed to Santa Fe, the district seat, where they joined others who had for-tifi ed themselves in the governor’s compound. Th ey quickly found themselves besieged by seemingly endless multitudes of Indians, and they grew more des-perate as the rebels diverted their water supply and set most of the town ablaze. Running out of options and time, Governor Antonio Otermín led a surprise attack on the Indians, which infl icted suffi cient damage to provide them with an opportunity to escape southward toward the Rio Grande. Th ere they joined up with other refugees from the region and were able to determine that, of about 2,000 settlers in the region, 401 had perished. Of these, 306 were women and children. Beyond the human toll, the insurgents had razed thirty-four villages, as well as numerous ranches and agricultural estates. It would be twelve years before the Spanish would reassert control in the area, and during this time the Indians would rule themselves.

One hundred years later, a much larger uprising would sweep through the Andes before ultimately being suff ocated by the Hispanics and their allies. Due to its scale, severity, and location in silver-producing areas, the Great Rebellion of Peru and Upper Peru (present-day Bolivia) in 1780–82 constituted the most seri-ous threat to Spanish rule in the Americas prior to the wars of independence. Th e rebellion fi rst broke out in the Upper Peruvian province of Chayanta and was led by Tomás Catari, a hereditary chief who had been prevented from taking offi ce. Aft er his death, his brothers Dámaso and Nicolás presided over the increasing radicalization of the insurgency. Targeting those of lighter skin and Hispanic ori-entation, they sought an end to colonial rule and the abolition of forced labor and purchases, religious fees, and civil taxes. In the region of Cuzco in present-day Peru, the insurgency was headed by José Gabriel Túpac Amaru, the hereditary leader of the town of Tungasuca. Th roughout the region, towns were attacked and looted and non-Indians systematically killed. Following a short and unsuc-cessful siege of Cuzco, the former Inca capital, in January 1781, Túpac Amaru and his allies were unable to regain the initiative and were ultimately defeated. Th e city of La Paz suff ered a much more severe siege between March and October 1781, led by Túpac Catari. About one-third of the city’s population, or 10,000 people, died before the uprising was fi nally suppressed in early 1782.9

Ni c h o l as A . R o b i n s

27

The Pueblo Revolt and the Great Rebellion as Subaltern Genocides

The Pueblo Revolt

Both the Pueblo Revolt and the Great Rebellion were exterminatory eff orts to escape Hispanic oppression and reclaim native culture, governance, religion, and lands. As well, both were themselves responses to genocides. Not only did the Spanish conquest result in a demographic collapse exceeding ninety percent in many places, but groups that resisted Spanish dominion were subject to geno-cidal attacks, with any survivors enslaved. Further, the imposition of Catholicism was based on forced conversions and deliberate and systematic extirpation campaigns against native rites. Th ese resulted in the mass destruction of reli-gious shrines and artifacts, and the torture and death of native religious leaders. Beyond this, miscegenation and forced marriages aff ected native abilities to pro-create, and various forms of forced labor and land seizures deprived natives of their livelihoods and oft en their lives as well.10

Th e eff ects of the demographic collapse were catastrophic in the Pueblo region. Th e population plummeted from about 130,000 in 1581 to approximately 15,000 in 1678.11 Most Indians there and elsewhere perished from diseases brought by the Spanish to which they had no immunity, and also from overwork and suicide. Th e campaign of subaltern genocide such conditions precipitated was carefully planned and intended as the means to achieve a nativistic, millen-nial, and utopian social vision.12

While perpetrators and victims of genocide generally off er divergent views concerning the objectives of a confl ict, this was not the case with either the Pueblo Revolt or the Great Rebellion. A few days before the Pueblo uprising, the Pecos chief Juan Ye reported to the Hispanics that a conspiracy was well underway to “to kill all the Spaniards and religious.”13 When it erupted, a native messenger from the town of Tesuque arrived on August 10 in San Diego de Jemez, convok-ing the inhabitants to “kill the Spaniards and friars who are here,” and insisting that as a result of the rebellion “none of the Spaniards will remain alive” there or elsewhere in the area.14

Just before the rebels arrived at the outskirts of Santa Fe, two loyal Indians whom the governor had sent to reconnoiter the Keres and Tano regions has-tened back to report that scores of Indians were “on the way to attack it and destroy the governor and all the Spaniards,” adding that they planned to “sack the said villa all together and kill within it the señor governor and captain-general, the religious, and all the citizens.”15 An Indian captured during the Hispanic exodus south testifi ed that rebels from Tesuque had told those in San Cristóbal that the “Indians want to kill the Custodian, the Fathers and the Spaniards, and have said that whoever kills a Spaniard shall have an Indian woman as wife, and whoever kills four shall have as many wives, and those killing ten or more shall have as many wives. Th ey have said that they will

Symbolism and Subalternit y

28

kill all the servants of the Spaniards and those who talk Castilian, and have ordered everyone to burn their rosaries.”16

During an armed foray, or entrada, back to the region in 1681, the Hispanics interrogated several Indians concerning the revolt. One, a Tano, stated that the leader of the rebellion, Popé, had “given them to understand that the father of all the Indians, their great captain . . . had ordered the said Popé to tell all the pueblos to rebel and . . . that no religious or no Spanish person must remain.”17 Similarly, the elderly Indian Pedro Ganboa stated that he “has heard . . . that the Indians do not want religious or Spaniards” and in attacking Santa Fe they sought to “destroy the governor . . . and all the people who were with him.”18

Twelve years later, in September 1692, when Governor Vargas arrived in Santa Fe, the Indians from Galisteo who had taken over the town assured him that “they were ready to fi ght for fi ve days, [and that] they had to kill us all, we must not fl ee as we had the fi rst time, and they had to take everybody’s life.”19 As he continued in his eff orts to pacify the area in 1693, the natives at Ciéneguilla defi antly told Vargas that they “would fi ght . . . until they left us all dead, once and for all.”20

The Great Rebellion

Much like the Pueblo Revolt, the objectives of the Great Rebellion—Indian inde-pendence and freedom from Hispanic oppression—were in the eyes of many rebels incompatible with the continued presence of most Hispanics in the region. At the time of the outbreak of the rebellion in Chayanta and the surrounding provinces in August 1780, much of the violence was initially directed at local village leaders. Quite oft en these individuals were Mestizos whom the Spanish authorities had appointed on the basis of pliability. Oft en they had no organic connection to the communities they held sway over, and, in concert with the dis-trict governor, systematically exploited their subjects.21 Why some curacas were killed and others not appears related to the degree to which they were assimilated into the Hispanic system of exploitation and society, and conversely, the degree to which they represented community interests.

Ethnicity and its attributes were oft en as important as race in determining who became a target of the rebels. Similarly, occupations and social status were associated with Hispanic identity, and people were targeted if they dressed in the Hispanic style or could not speak Aymará or Quechua. Likewise, Túpac Catari in La Paz and Tomás Callisaya in Tiquina decreed death to anyone who ate bread, used fountains for water, did not speak Aymará, or did not wear native clothes.22

During the rebel siege of Oruro, largely led by the Indian Santos Mamani, the insurgents expressed their intention to kill all non-Indians there, including women, the young, and priests.23 Th roughout Peru and Upper Peru, thousands of Hispanic noncombatants were killed.24 Rampant conscription led to many Mestizos and Indians involuntarily becoming involved in both sides of the rebel-lion, and in the case of the former, many probably joined out of fear of being considered Hispanic by other rebels.25


29

In Upper Peru, by September 1781, rebel aggression increasingly targeted Spaniards, Creoles, and others of light skin color, in addition to Mestizos. One contemporary was of the belief that Túpac Amaru had ordered the rebels in Upper Peru and elsewhere to kill “as many Spaniards and Mestizos as they could get their hands on.”26 In October 1780, in the town of Paria, the governor Manuel de Bodega, who would become a victim of rebel wrath a couple of months later, wrote that the insurgents were killing “any Spaniard and cholo27 that they fi nd in the towns . . . so that there will be no person to subject them.”28

Following the death of Tomás Catari and the ensuing radicalization of the rebellion, some insurgents stated that Dámaso and Nicolás Catari ordered the rebels to “fi nish off with all those who were not Indians and with those who opposed” them.29 In Arque, unaware of the breakdown of Creole-Indian relations in Oruro, a Creole desperately wrote to the Creole rebel Jacinto Rodríguez inquir-ing if “it was true that he had given orders that the Indians kill all whites without distinction” between Creoles and Spaniards.30 In the village of Tolapampa, in the province of Porco, an order attributed to Nicolás Catari ordered rebels to “kill all the corregidors,31 priests, miners, Spaniards, and Mestizos.”32

Th e views of Sebastían de Segurola, who headed the defense of besieged La Paz, evolved as the insurgency progressed. He stated his belief that Túpac Catari wanted “not just to kill the corregidors and Europeans, as I thought at the begin-ning, but rather all those who were not legitimately Indians.”33 Th e cleric Matías de la Borda, who was held prisoner by Túpac Catari, believed that the Aymará rebel sought the “total extermination of the Spanish people, both patrician and European, and of the[ir] life, customs and Religion.”34 Similarly, Father Josef de Uriate, who was held prisoner by the insurgents in the region of Sicasica, wrote that they intended to “pass under the knife the Spaniards and Mestizos without sparing the priests, women nor children, and [to] extinguish the cattle and seeds of Spain.”35

Apart from their actions, the confessions and statements of captive rebels indicate that the preceding cannot simply be attributed to Hispanic hyperbole. During the siege of La Paz, Túpac Catari called upon the defenders to surrender “all of the corregidors . . . Europeans . . . priests and their assistants, the royal offi cials, the customs tax collectors, hacendados and fi rearms.”36 In another letter he commanded “that all the Creoles die,” and stated that he intended to “fi n-ish off everyone with the objective that there will not be Mestizos.”37 His sister Gregoria Apasa, who was also a rebel, stated in her confession that the insurgents would “take the lives of the whites whenever they had the opportunity.”38 Th e rebel Josefa Anaya also confessed that the insurgents initially planned to “kill the corregidors, the Europeans and bad Creoles, although in reality they always killed everyone they found” who was Hispanic.39

Similarly, the insurgent Diego Quispe stated that rebels sought to “kill abso-lutely all the whites without distinction” between Spaniard and Creole.40 Also in the region of La Paz, Diego Estaca confessed that “the principal objective of the uprising was to get rid of all of the white people,” while not far away in Tiquina, Tomás Callisaya ordered “that all corregidors, their ministers, caciques,


30

collectors, and other dependents be passed by the knife, as well as all the chap-etones,41 Creoles, women, and children, without exception of sex or age, and all persons who are or look Spanish, or at the least is dressed in the imitation of such Spanish.”42 Many of the insurgents who prosecuted the siege of La Paz had earlier rebelled in the southern provinces, and consequently the events there are indica-tive of the goals of rebels from diverse regions.43 Likewise, the rebel Ascensio Taquichiro testifi ed that in Challacollo he hoped to “burn the town and kill the inhabitants without leaving one alive who was not an Indian.”44

Symbolism and Subaltern Genocide

Apart from confessions, usually extracted under force, and occasionally some cor-respondence, most insurgents in these confl icts left no written record concerning their inspiration and objectives. Although most were illiterate, many were also quite articulate and expressed themselves cogently through the symbolic con-tent of their actions. Th ese serve to corroborate the exterminatory nature of their endeavor. Claude Levi-Strauss argued that people “communicate by means of symbols and signs. For anthropology . . . all things are symbol and sign which act as intermediaries between two subjects,” and that symbols are chosen from many alternatives of expression.45 Th e deliberate choosing of one form of expression over another is key to understanding the relationship between rebel actions and symbolic expression. Th e symbolic content of these actions was oft en pronounced in the manner in which they selected, treated, and killed their victims, and in what they did with their property.

In both rebellions, we fi nd a tendency among the rebels to invert the previous order, oft en humiliating their victims in the process, and to superimpose symbols, especially religious ones. As Evelin G. Lindner notes in her chapter in this volume, the humiliation of enemies is oft en a means for perpetrators to purge themselves of their own feelings of inferiority. Th is can happen both at a personal and physi-cal level, and also at a supernatural level, where the contest, and focus of humilia-tion, revolves around perceived supernatural powers. Not only had the indigenes been humiliated and oppressed by their overlords, but so had their deities. Within this context, attacks on religious symbols reveal not only objectives, but causes.

In Peru and Upper Peru, rebel symbolic discourse could have a simple elo-quence, such as when Andrés Túpac Amaru mandated that when rebels found medallions adorned with an image of Charles III, given to loyal village leaders, the medals should be hanged from a gallows.46 Th e message was clear: the period of Spanish rule had ended, and the lives of those who defended it would shortly end too. Symbolic expression could be even more direct. For example, when the rebels attacked district governor Joaquín Alós and his escort in August 1780, they cut off the hand of his scribe, Mateo Tellez, and chopped out the tongue of Alós’s advisor, Josef Benavides, before killing both men.47 A priest suff ered a similar fate in the village of Colcha. Aft er capturing but before executing him, the rebels cut out his tongue, physically and symbolically preventing him from preaching.48


31

All these victims were physically and symbolically denied the ability to perform their colonial role.

Th e manner in which people were usually executed in the Great Rebellion, through beheading, also highlighted the genocidal element of the uprising. By decapitating their enemies, the insurgents communicated a conviction that these victims would never be reincarnated.49 In their view, to kill by other means, or to bury victims prematurely, ran the risk that their enemies could one day return. Beheading had other uses as well, as very oft en victim’s heads were taken to Túpac Amaru and other leaders, thereby symbolically demonstrating their fealty to the leader.50 In Palca, Upper Peru, the insurgents executed over four hundred men, women, and children, leaving “some on top of the others . . . [and] many in a shameless position.”51 Th is again suggests a symbolic content to the manner of execution and its aft ermath. Mutilation appears to have been widespread in both of the rebellions under study here, and while it has inherent symbolic content, it is not always clear how it was done or what the roles of the victims were in colonial society.52

Symbolic expressions of Indian power in both regions under study were oft en but not exclusively related to Catholicism and involved the inversion of traditional relationships and the humiliation or ridicule of clerics. Th e attacks on churches oft en were the result of people taking refuge in what was generally the strongest buildings in town, and hence best suited to withstand a rebel assault. Th e tactical considerations which led to its use as a shield, both literally and fi gu-ratively, also led to churches becoming a rich backdrop for symbolic theater. Th e assaults on Catholic symbols in both New Mexico and in the Andes also refl ected the fact that many rebels saw the confl ict as a contest between humiliated yet reascendant native gods and the alien deity which had oppressed them.

In New Mexico, even before the 1680 rebellion, attacks on clerics oft en had a symbolic element. When the inhabitants of Zuni rebelled in 1632, they not only killed Friar Francisco Letrado but highlighted their newfound power by scalping him.53 In the early 1670s, when Apaches attacked the pueblo of Abó, they burned the monastery and killed Friar Pedro de Ayala aft er “stripping him of his cloth-ing, putting a rope around his neck, fl ogging him most cruelly, and fi nally killing him with blows of the macana;54 aft er he was dead they surrounded the body with dead white lambs, and covered the privy parts, leaving him in this way.”55 Th e burning of the mission was a rather blunt symbolic act: by stripping the friars, the Indians were stripping them of their power, and by placing dead lambs around his body the Apaches may have been issuing a warning that a similar fate awaited his fl ock. In the 1680 revolt, the rebels also used physical abuse and humiliation to express both their hatred of and dominance over their enemies. For example, in Jemez, aft er capturing Friar Jesus Morador in his bed, the rebels stripped him of his clothes, bound him on the back of a pig, and paraded him through the pueblo as he was attacked by the natives. Later, at least one rebel rode and spurred him like a horse before fi nally killing him.56

Th e rebels in New Mexico attacked not only priests, but symbols of Cathol-icism generally. During the entrada into the Pueblo region in 1681, as the Hispanics


32

entered Senecú in early November, they encountered “the holy temple and con-vent burned,” and in the sacristy they found the “hair and crown from a crucifi x, thrown on the ground,” along with a broken altar. In the cemetery, they found a bell with its clapper removed, in addition to a bronze cannon and a cross which had earlier been in the plaza.57 Governor Otermín was of the belief that the town had been attacked by Apaches. Whether the assailants were Apache or Pueblo, by scalping an image of Christ and breaking an altar, they were communicating the destruction of Hispanic and Catholic power and demonstrating the resurgence of native power.

During the same entrada, on December 17, 1681, as Governor Otermín led his forces into Sandía, he found the symbols of Catholic authority literally in pieces. “Th e church and convent [were] entirely . . . demolished”; there were “two broken bells, in fi ve pieces,” in addition to a “small broken crown.” In one building, they encountered “the image of the Immaculate Conception of Our Lady with a dragon at her feet, which work had served as an altar piece for the main altar of the said church, . . . the divine eyes and mouth of the fi gure were ruined, and . . . there were signs on the other parts of the body of it having been stoned, while the accursed fi gure at her feet was whole and unspoiled.” Th ese were clearly deliberate actions, symbolically muting, blinding, and humiliating Catholic power.

Th e desire to invert previous relationships was also demonstrated in Decem-ber 1693, as Governor Vargas was preparing to assault Santa Fe and fi nalize the Hispanic reconquest of the region. Th e Indians occupying the town defi antly asserted that they were going to kill all the Hispanics, except for some friars. Th ey shouted that “the friars will for a short time be our servants; we will make them carry fi rewood and bring it from the woods, and aft er they have served us, we will kill all of them.”58 Th ey sought to further invert the colonial social order when they asserted that they were “going to kill . . . [the Hispanics] and make slaves of their women and children.”59 Th is was probably no bluff , as they had done precisely this with numerous Hispanic women captured in 1680.60

In the Andean case, two-and-a-half centuries of colonialism produced greater diversity among the rebels concerning their views of Christianity. While it does appear that many insurgents were apostates or never believed in the fi rst place, oth-ers appear to have sought to reformulate Catholicism to serve rather than exploit them. Whatever their position, most appear to have believed, as in New Mexico, that the Christian god possessed power; the question was how much and for whose benefi t it was expressed. In rebel eyes, the rebellion itself showed the faltering power of the Spanish god to defend the Hispanics, and as the insurgency became radi-calized in early 1781, the rebels increasingly ignored the tradition of church sanc-tuary. Time and again, in the Pueblo Revolts and the Great Rebellion, the rebels overran churches if those inside did not surrender and come out to face an almost certain death.61 In the Great Rebellion, many clerics died in Tapacari, San Pedro de Buenavista, Oruro, Poopó, Aymaia, Songo, Chucuito, El Alto, and other towns in Peru and Upper Peru.62

Th e humiliation and killing of clerics was a means of inverting relationships and of expressing physical and perceived supernatural powers. During the Great


33

Rebellion, in Pintatora, the insurgents “made fun” of the assistant priest when he tried to pacify the rebels by displaying a crucifi x, while in Sacaca the rebels abused the assistant priest and made him wear a crown of thorns.63 In Oruro one rebel called out that the Christ of Burgos was “only a piece of” wood, and in Palca another shouted that the host was nothing more than bread.64 Dancing over corpses, such as was done in Oruro and Tapacari, was another means of ridicule.65

Stripping victims of the Great Rebellion was a common method of humilia-tion which also served to highlight the inversion of traditional power and social relationships. In Challapata, aft er killing the corregidor, the rebels acceded to the pleas of the village priest to spare the armed escort which had accompanied him, but only aft er they had been stripped of both their clothing and valuables. In February 1781, in Yura and Anasayas, the rebels stripped clerics of their vest-ments.66 When the Indians took Oruro, they stripped a colonial offi cial of his clothing in the Convent of Santo Domingo.67 Humiliation and inversion were not the only reasons for stripping people, as the Andean Indians equated pov-erty and nakedness. Stripping their victims brought them to the level of poverty that the Indians knew all too well. In Aymaia, as a band of rebels beat Father Dionicio Cortés to death, one Indian shouted “Priest! Th ief! It is because of you that we are naked.”68

As the insurgency swept through Upper Peru, to underscore native domi-nance the rebels consistently demanded that all people use native clothing exclu-sively, speak native languages, and otherwise adopt indigenous customs such as chewing coca leaves.69 Th is was quite dramatic in Oruro as the Creole-Indian alli-ance quickly evaporated, and the insurgents commanded that everyone dress in the native manner, chew coca, and speak Aymara.70 In Tapacari and Sorata, the rebels spared Hispanic women and made them dress in the Indian manner.71 Th e value of adopting native ways was demonstrated by many who failed to do so.72 In the village of Sicasica the rebels executed “those of their nation who used shirts and were not immediately moving to their dress.”73 Just to the north in the La Paz region and in Tiquina, Túpac Catari and Tomás Callisaya, respectively, ordered the execution of anyone who did not speak Aymará or dress in the native fashion.74

Th e Andean rebels expressed their desire to invert social relationships by other means. For example, when the rebel leader Simón Castillo briefl y occu-pied San Pedro de Buenavista on Christmas Day in 1780, he commanded that all Spaniards leave the town within eight days or “be sent to the mines of Potosí.”75 When the insurgents overran Carangas, they pilloried a treasury offi cial before executing him, while in Chocaya the rebels imprisoned the Spaniard Gerónimo Alquisalete before his execution.76

As in New Mexico, sparing Hispanic women so that they could be slaves to the rebels was another way of inverting previous relationships. Not only were women enslaved, but because they were considered chattel in Hispanic society, the insurgents were further stripping Hispanic men of what was considered their property by claiming it as their own. Th e documents off er few details concern-ing the experiences of these captives, but we do know that in Upper Peru such servitude was brief for many Hispanic women; oft en they were soon executed,


34

as happened or was planned in Tapacari, San Pedro de Buenavista, Palca, Lipes, Sicasica, and La Paz.77 In Chocaya, under the threat of death, the widowed Hispanic women left their hiding places and knelt and kissed the feet and hands of the rebel leaders prior to their rescue by Hispanic forces.78 Many contempo-raries were loath to mention sexual assault, instead noting that many women were victims of “outrages which the pen is horrifi ed to repeat,” or an act that “scandalizes the ears” or “horrifi es the tongue to” hear or say.79

Inversion and assimilation are further shown by the frequency with which insurgents in the Great Rebellion sought the silver of their victims. By taking it and other useful items, the insurgents highlighted the inversion of what they believed would soon be the old order. In El Alto, San Pedro de Buenavista, and elsewhere, Indians drank chicha, a native fermented corn drink, from silver chalices, and adorned monstrances with coca leaves, inverting spiritual relationships while seeking to appropriate whatever vestigial power the Christian god retained.80

As in New Mexico, the rebels would oft en simply destroy items associated with the Catholic church. During the Indian occupation of Oruro, they destroyed numerous statues and other items as they sacked churches and hunted down Hispanics. Subsequently, when they laid siege to the town, they stated their intent to cut “off the head of the image of Our Lady of Rosario” upon their hoped-for victory, thus helping to ensure the permanent demise of Catholic power.81 In San Pedro de Buenavista, having looted the jewels and silver from the church, they stripped the clothes off the images of Mary and Jesus before destroying them and the monstrance.82 Aft er the slaughter in Tapacari, the insurgents cast off the crowns from the statues of Mary and Jesus before fl ames consumed these and other images in the plaza.83 All such actions symbolically communicated that the long-awaited demise of both the Hispanics and the supernatural powers that had supported them was at hand.

Symbolic Superimposition

Th e insurgents in these rebellions not only used symbols for expression, but sought to superimpose them. For example, during the Pueblo Revolt in Santo Domingo the friars Juan de Talaban, Antonio de Lorenzana, and Joseph Montes de Oca were taken to the church, where they were killed and their bodies heaped upon the altar.84 Placing the corpses there communicated the death of Hispanic spiritual and temporal dominance, and the rebels superimposed the off ering of Hispanic and religious blood in the place where the symbolic blood of Christ was ritually off ered. A similar event occurred in the village of Tapacari in Upper Peru, where people were also executed and deposited on the altar.85

In Senecú, in New Mexico, when the Hispanics returned during the 1681 entrada, they found a bell separated from its clapper in a cemetery. Th e bell had for decades summoned the natives for worship or work at the mission, and by severing the clapper the rebels symbolically castrated Spanish authority. Placing the bell in the cemetery, along with a cross and cannon, underscored their belief


35

that Catholicism, and Spanish military power, were fi nished. During the same entrada, the Hispanics also found bells with the clappers removed in Socorro and Alamillo, as did Governor Vargas in November 1692 in the Zuni region.86

Symbolic implosion, sometimes involving superimposition, was a recurring theme among the rebels in the Great Rebellion. For example, in January 1781, when the rebels attacked and then killed Corregidor Bodega in Challapata, the rebels did not kill their quarry on sight, but instead caught and shuffl ed him to the rollo.87 Th ere, the insurgents ordered his slave, whom they had already cap-tured, to behead him.88 In Juli, on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the rebels also tied the curaca Fermín Llagua to the rollo and decapitated him, subsequently placing his head at his feet. His colleague, the curaca Rafael Paca, met a similar fate, with his head placed on the top of the rollo.89

Th e corregidor, curaca, and rollo all symbolized Spanish authority and oppression, and symbolically all were easily superimposed. Deliberately decapi-tating a Hispanic offi cial at the rollo communicated the decapitation of Spanish power. In Bodega’s case, not only was Hispanic power destroyed, fi guratively and literally, but the rebels choreographed the event so that Bodega was killed liter-ally by his own property, a slave. On both the symbolic and literal levels, Spanish authority was being destroyed by Hispanic property. None of these acts was arbi-trary; all were craft ed amidst what must have been some degree of turmoil.

Th e Pueblo Revolt and the Great Rebellion are cases of subaltern genocide in which oppressed people and victims of genocide sought the extermination of their overlords and almost the entirety of the dominant culture in their respec-tive regions. Ethnicity played a central role in determining who was targeted. In addition to skin tone, people were oft en marked for death for their language, dress, occupation, or religion. Apart from the actions of the insurgents in the fi eld, which were consistently directed toward killing those seen as Hispanic or allied with them, rebel statements underscored the genocidal nature of these insurgencies. Th e depth of the changes envisioned by the rebels, involving the excising of Hispanic blood and heritage, is further corroborated by the symbolic language of many rebels. Such actions as killing people on the altar, executing people at or dragging bodies to the rollo, hammering away to separate clappers from bells, abusing Catholic images, and forcing slaves to kill their masters all indicate that such actions were not random but well craft ed and deliberate. Th e common people may not have left much in the way of a written record, but they were highly articulate and have left a rich record of their views and objectives.

AbbreviationsABNB Archivo y Biblioteca Nacionales de Bolivia, Sucre, Bolivia, Sublevación General de IndiosAGI Archivo General de Indias, Seville, Spain. Buenos Aires 320 Charcas 437-b, 444, 594, 595, 596, 599, 601, 603.


36

Notes 1. For a discussion of sources on these rebellions, see Robins, Native Insurgenc-

ies, 9–10. 2. A person of Indian and Iberian descent. 3. A person of Indian and Negro descent. 4. A person of Indian and Mestizo descent. 5. Hackett, “Th e Revolt of the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico in 1680,” 142–43; Knault,

Th e Pueblo Revolt of 1680, 117, 168–69; Bancroft , Th e Works of Hubert Howe Bancroft , vol. 17, History of Arizona and New Mexico, 175–76.

6. “Copias de documentos citados en el diario,” no. 18, 23; Fisher, Th e Last Inca Revolt, 25; O’Phelan, Rebellions and Revolts in Eighteenth Century Peru and Upper Peru, 253; Rowe, “El movimiento nacional Inca del siglo XVIII,” 32, 38.

7. For detailed treatments of the course of these rebellions, see Robins, Native Insur gencies, 23–50.

8. Ibid., 30–34. 9. Ibid., 38–50. 10. Cook, Born to Die, 206; Smith, “Depopulation of the Central Andes in the 16th

Century,” 459; Cook and Borah, Essays in Population History: Mexico and California, vol. 3, 1; Pierre Duviols, La destrucción de las religiones andinas (Conquista y colonia) (Mexico City: UNAM, 1977), 9, 249–59, 373–77, 423–24; Robins, Priest-Indian Confl ict in Upper Peru), 48.

11. Knault, Th e Pueblo Revolt of 1680, 153–55.12. “Testimony of Juan Lorenzo and Francisco Lorenzo,” 65–66; “Testimony of

José,” 53, 57; “Carta del Padre Fray Silvestre Velez de Escalante, escrita en 2 de Abril de 1778,” 311; “Auto of Antonio de Otermín,” 219; “Opinion of fray Francisco de Ayeta,” 310; “Declaration of Jerónimo, a Tigua Indian,” 361; “Reply of the Fiscal, Don Martin de Solís Miranda,” 382; “Testimony of Juan of Tesuque,” 53; “Testimony of Lucas, a Piro Indian,” 60; “Carta del Padre Fray Silvestre Velez de Escalante,” 311; “Testimony of Pedro Naranjo,” 63–64; “Declaration of Sargento Mayor Sebastian de Herrera,” 269; Simmons, “History of Pueblo-Indian Relations to 1821,” 184. See also “Auto of Antonio de Otermín,” 219; Bancroft , History of Arizona and New Mexico, 184–85; Knault, Th e Pueblo Revolt of 1680, 174–75; and Silverberg, Th e Pueblo Revolt, 131.

13. “Tercer cuaderno [of Fray Salvador de San Antonio],” 350.14. Hackett, “Th e Revolt of the Pueblo Indians,” 125.15. “Auto of Antonio de Otermín,” 13.16. “Salida para el Paso del Norte, 23 de augusto, hasta 5 de Octubre,” 17.17. “Declaration of Diego López Sambrano,” 295.18. “Declaration of one of the rebellious Christian Indians who was captured on

the road,” 61.19. “Diego de Vargas, campaign journal,” 389.20. “Diego de Vargas to the King,” 186.21. Serulnikov, “Revindicaciones indígenas y legalidad colonial,” 7–8, 16; O’Phelan,

Rebellions and Revolts, 118–19, 153.22. “Carta de Fray Matías de la Borda a Sebastían de Segurola,” 1–2; “Copias de docu -

mentos citados en el diario,” no. 18, 21; “Diario de Sebastían Segurola,” 6; Diez de Medina, Diario del alzamiento del indios conjurados contra la ciudad de Nuestra Señora de La Paz, 30.

23. “Actuaciones anteriores ala formación de esta causa de Oruro,” 21, 83, 84–85, 89, 90, 123; “Testimonio de Santos Mamani,” 73; “Declaración de Francisco Xavier Condori,” 24; “Testimonio de Martín Lopes,” 26.


37

24. “Carta que refi ere a los estragos hechos,” 508–509; “Carta de Arequipa con fecha 2 de Mayo de 1781 que refi ere los estragos executados,” 693–94; “Relación de sucesos de la Provincia de Cochabamba,” 4–5, 6–7; “Actuaciones anteriores,” 5, 6, 21, 23, 87, 99, 144; “Relación de los hechos más notables acaecidos,” 162, 170–73; “Carta del Cabildo de Cochabamba al Rey,” 1; “El Regente Presidente,” 1; “Confesión de Josef Daga,” 1; “Confesión de Augustín Ventura,” 12; “Confesión de Sebastiana Mamani,” 25; “Carta de Luís Palacio y Santelices a Gerónimo de Ruedas,” 22; “Causa de Augustín Solís,” 21; “Dn. Pedro Antonio Zernudas,” 5; “Informe de Josef Atanacio Baspineyro,” 1; “Parte de D. José de Reseguín al Virey de Buenos Aires,” 348.

25. “Carta de Félix Villalobos a Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas,” 6–7; “Actuaciones anter-iores,” 5, 87, 99, 144; “Relación de los hechos más notables,” 206; “Representación de Félix Josef de Villalobos a Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas,” 7; “Relación de los sucesos de la Provincia de Cochabamba año de 1781,” 4; “Declaración de Fray Josef Serbantes,” 18.

26. “Carta de Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas a Juan José Vertíz,” 1; “Carta de Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas a Josef de Galvez,” 1.

27. A Hispanicized Indian, also known as a Ladino.28. “Informe del Corregidor de Paria Manuel de Bodega,” 92.29. “Ofi cio de Francisco Javier Beltrán,” 1.30. “Carta que refi ere los estragos,” 508; “Relación de los sucesos de la provincia de

Cocha bamba,” 4.31. A district governor.32. “Ofi cio de Francisco Javier Beltrán,” 1.33. “Diario del cerco de La Paz en 1781, por Sebastían de Segurola,” 2.34. “Copias de documentos citados en el diario,” no. 18, 21.35. “Declaración de Padre Fr. Josef de Uriarte,” 1.36. “Diario del cerco de La Paz en 1781, por Sebastían de Segurola,” 8.37. “Carta de Túpac Catari a José de Ayarza,” 230; “Copias de documentos citados

en el diario,” no. 10, 19.38. “Confesión de Gregoria Apasa,” 1.39. “Confesión de Josefa Anaya,” 5–6.40. “Confesión de Diego Quispe,” 8.41. A derogatory name for a Spaniard.42. “Copias de documentos citados en el diario,” no. 18, 21; “Carta de Borda a Segur-

ola,” 1; “Confesión de Diego Estaca,” 20–21; O´Phelan, Rebellions and Revolts, 252–54.43. “Relación verdadera de los lástimos sucesos ocuridos,” 98; “Diario de Sebastían

de Segurola,” 17; “Confesión de Julián Apasa o Túpac Catari,” 24; “Carta de Ignacio Florez a Josef de Galvez,” 2.

44. Cajías de la Vega, “Los Objectivos de la revolución indigena de 1781: El Caso de Oruro,” 421.

45. Claude Levi-Strauss, Structural Anthopology, vol. 2, pp. 9, 11.46. “Confesión de Gregoria Apasa,” 3; “Confesión de Ascencia Flores,” 23.47. “Levantamiento de la Provincia de Chayanta o Charcas,” 239–41.48. “Carta que refi ere los estragos,” 81; “Carta de Arequipa,” 694.49. “Carta de Joseph Antonio de Areche,” 2; “Diario fabuloso del cura de Oruro

Doctor Don Patricio Gabriel Menéndez,” 289; “Relación verdadera,” 77; “Actuaciones anter-iores,” 176; “Causas de Oruro,” 141; “Informe del Consejo de Indias al Rey,” 106; “Causa de Augustín Solis,” 21; Jan Szeminski, “Why Kill the Spaniard?,” 170.

50. “Testimonio de Ventura Balencia,” 24; “Sobre los alboratos y sublevación de indios en Cochabamba,” 24; “Carta de Capellán Th eodoro Gutíerrez de Seballos a Ramón Urrutía y las Casas,” 5; “Actuaciones anteriores,” 11, 42–43, 45, 48, 62; “Testimonio de


38

Santos Mamani,” 37; “Declaración de Francisco Xavier Condori,” 12; “Testimonio de Martín Lopes,” 13; “Declaración de Luís de Palacio y Santelises,” 11; “Causa de Augustín Solís,” 11; “Fragment of Informe,” 3.

51. “Relación de los sucesos de Cochabamba,” 24–25.52. “Relación verdadera,” 78; “Diario fabuloso,” 288; “De los sucesos más principales

acaecidos en la villa de Oruro entre europeos y criollos,” 294; “Relación de los horribles estragos,” 299; “Relación traxica de los funestros y ruinosos acaecemientos de la villa de Oruro,” 3; “Relación de los sucesos de la Provincia de Cochabamba,” 14; “Auto of Antonio de Otermín,” 194.

53. Simmons, “History of Pueblo-Indian Relations to 1821,” 184.54. A club.55. Knault, Th e Pueblo Revolt of 1680, 163.56. Bancroft , Th e Works of Hubert Howe Bancroft , vol. 17, History of Arizona and

New Mex ico, 182.57. “March of the army from El Paso to La Isleta,” 203–4.58. “El Proveido de D. Diego de Vargas Sobre la peticion espresada del Padre Cus-

todio y demas religiosos misioneros dice,” 355.59. “Th e Cabildo of Santa Fe to the Conde de Galve,” 561.60. “Letter from the Governor and Captain-General,” 329–30; “Auto of Antonio

de Otermín,” 17; Carlos de Siguenza y Gongora, “Mercurio Volante con la noticias de la recuperacion de las Provincias del Nuevo Mexico,” 100–111; Hackett, “Th e Revolt of the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico in 1680,” 119.

61. “Bando de coronación de Túpac Amaru,” 206; “Actuaciones anteriores,” 13, 45; “Carta de Capellan Augustin Flores Urito a Jorge Escobedo,” 49; “Declaración de Roque Argote,” 18–20; “Relación histórica,” 24–27; “Diario fabuloso,” 289–90; “Relación de los hechos más notables,” 170–71; “Confesión de Josef Daga,” 23; “Carta que refi ere a los estragos,” 508, 694; “Relación de sucesos de la Provincia de Cochabamba,” 9, 14, 17–18; Jan Szeminski, La utopía Tupamarista, 246, 277; Szeminski, “Why Kill the Spaniard,” 176, 178; Leon Campbell, “Banditry and the Túpac Amaru Rebellion in Cuzco, Perú, 1780–1784,” 152–53.

62. “Diaro fabuloso,” 289; “Actuaciones anteriores,” 351, 354; “Relación traxica,” 5; “Carta que refi ere a los estragos,” 509, 694; “Relación de los hechos más notables,” 170–71, 206; “Representación de Domingo Angeles a Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas,” 23; “Carta de Arequipa,” 693–94; “Relación de los sucesos de Cochabamba,” 14; “Carta de Oruro,” 158; Diez de Medina, 66; “Carta de Borda a Segurola,” 155; “Carta de Ramón de Moya y Villareal a Juan José Vertíz,” 13.

63. “Relación de los hechos más notables,” 163; “Declaración de Alvento Arze,” 134.64. “Relación de los horribles,” 343; “Diario fabuloso,” 289; “Relación histórica,” 25;

“Relación traxica,” 4; “Relación de los hechos más notables,” 162.65. “Relación verdadera,” 78; “Diario fabuloso,” 288; “De los sucesos más princi-

pales,” 299; “Relación traxica,” 3.66. “Ofi cio de Capellán de Challapata, Juan Antonio Beltrán,” 3; “Carta de Capellán

Th eodoro Gutiérrez de Seballos a Ramón Urrutía y las Casas,” 10; “Testimonio for mado sobre la sublevación de los Indios del pueblo de Challapata,” 3.

67. “Actuaciones anteriores,” 24.68. “Confesión de Espiritu Alonso,” 24; “Confesión de Bartolome Vello,” 67.69. “Carta de Felíx Villalobos a Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas,” 13–14; “Actuaciones

anteriores,” 10, 173, 198, 288; “Relación de los hechos más notables,” 206; “Repre sentación de Felíx Josef Villalobos a Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas,” 14; “Relación de los sucesos de la


39

Provincia de Cochabamba,” 7; “Declaración de Fray Josef Serbantes,” 36; “Anexo al diario y relación prolija jurada,” 1; “Declaración de Alvento Arze,” 135; “Sumaria información recibida de varios indios de Chocaya,” 45, 47.

70. Relación traxica,” 4; “Relación histórica,” 29; “Carta del Cabildo de Cochabamba al Rey,” 2.

71. “Relación de los sucesos de la Provincia de Cochabamba,” 6; “Declaración de Da. María Crespo,” 5; “Declaración de Dn. Salvador Conde,” 10.

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73. “Carta de Arequipa,” 694; “Copias de documentos citados en el diario,” no. 18, 21; “Carta de Borda a Segurola,” 1; “Confesión de Diego Estaca,” 20–21; O´Phelan, Rebellions and Revolts, 252–254.

74. “Carta de Borda a Segurola,” 1–2; “Copias de documentos citados en el diario,” no. 18, 21; “Diario de Sebastían de Segurola,” 6; Diez de Medina, 30.

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77. “Diario que formo yo Esteban Losa,” 4; “Relación de los sucesos de la Provincia de Cochabamba,” 11.

78. “Sumaria información recibida de varios indios de Chocaya,” 28, 32.79. “Carta de Arequipa,” 692; “Carta de Cabildo de Cochabamba al Rey,” 2.80. “Relación de los sucesos de Cochabamba,” 8; “Actuaciones anteriores,” 12;

“Declar ación de Roque Argote,” 19–20; “Confesión de Lázaro Mamani,” 47; “Carta de Estiban Lidosa a Gerónimo Manuel de Ruedas,” 48; “Confesión de Sebastiana Mamani,” 50; “Confesión de Francisco Gonzalo,” 50; “Confesión de Pasqual Tola,” 53; “Confesión de Th omas Molina,” 60; “Carta de Arequipa,” 693; “Sumaria información recibida de varios indios de Chocaya,” 2, 7.

81. “Actuaciones anteriores,” 168; “Relación traxica,” 4.82. “El Regente de la Rl. Audiencia de Charcas,”1; “Relación de los hechos más

notables,” 171–72; “El corregidor de la villa de Cochabamba sobre los destrozos,” 10.83. “Carta que refi ere los estragos,” 509; Valentín Abecia Baldivieso, “La insurreción

india de Tapacari en 1781,” 41.84. Hackett, “Th e Revolt of the Pueblo Indians,” 123.85. “El corregidor de la villa de Cochabamba sobre los destrozos que executaron

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87. A cross symbolizing Spanish authority and oft en used as a whipping post.88. “Ofi cio de capellán de Challapata, Juan Antonio Beltrán,” 3; “Carta de Capellán

Th eodoro Gutiérrez de Seballos a Ramón Urrutía y las Casas,” 10.89. “Carta de Ramón de Moya y Villarroel a Juan José Vertíz,” 4; “Ofi cio de capellán

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Duviols, Pierre. La destrucción de las religiones andinas (Conquista y colonia). Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónomade México, 1977.


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Fisher, Lillian Estelle. Th e Last Inca Revolt: 1780–1783. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1966.

Hackett, Charles W. “Th e Revolt of the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico in 1680.” Texas State Historical Association Quarterly 15 (October 1911): 93–147.

Knault, Andrew L. Th e Pueblo Revolt of 1680: Conquest and Resistance in Seventeenth-Century New Mexico. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1995.

Levi-Strauss, Claude. Structural Anthropology, vol. 2. Trans. Monique Layton. New York: Basic Books, 1976.

O’Phelan Godoy, Scarlett. Rebellions and Revolts in Eighteenth Century Peru and Upper Peru. Cologne: Bohlau Verlag, 1985.

Robins, Nicholas. Native Insurgencies and the Genocidal Impulse in the Americas. Bloom-ington: Indiana University Press, 2005.

. Priest-Indian Confl ict in Upper Peru: Th e Generation of Rebellion, 1750–1780. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2007.

Rowe, John H. “El movimiento nacional Inca del siglo XVIII.” Revista Universitaria 43, no. 107 (1954): 17–40.

Serulnikov, Sergio. “Revindicaciones indígenas y legalidad colonial. La rebelión de Chayanta (1777–1781).” Buenos Aires: Centro de Estudios de Estado y Sociedad, 1989.

Silverberg, Robert. Th e Pueblo Revolt. New York: Weybright and Talley, 1970.Simmons, Marc. “History of Pueblo-Indian Relations to 1821.” Handbook of North Amer-

ican Indians, vol. 9, Th e Southwest, ed. Alfonso Ortíz. Washington, D.C.: Smith son-ian Institution, 1979, 178–223.

Smith, C. T. “Depopulation of the Central Andes in the 16th Century.” Current Anthro-pology 11, nos. 4–5 (1970): 453–64.

Szeminski, Jan. La utopía Tupamarista. Lima: Pontífi ca Universidad Católica del Perú, 1984.

.“Why Kill Th e Spaniard? New Perspectives on Andean Insurrectionary Ide ol-ogy in the 18th Century.” In Resistance, Rebellion, and Consciousness in the Andean Peasant World, Eighteenth to Twentieth Centuries, ed. Steve Stern. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987.


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On the Genocidal Aspect of Certain Subaltern Uprisings

A Research Note

ADAM JONES

This short chapter builds on those preceding by examining the genocidal strategies and motifs deployed in di-verse genres of subaltern mass vio-lence. I examine slave rebellions, indigenous uprisings, peasant revolts

(jacqueries), and modern anti-colonial revolts. It should be acknowledged at the outset that individual events are not easily slotted into particular, mutually exclu-sive categories. For example, the Caste War of Yucatán (1847–49), considered below, can be viewed as a war of national liberation, a peasant uprising, a native (indigenous) uprising, and a social revolution—even as a quasi-slave rebellion, given the hyper-exploitative labor conditions that prevailed on the plantations of the Yucatán peninsula. For a given event, therefore, I adopt the framing that seems most appropriate.

Slave Uprisings

I was never so glad to hear anything in my life. . . . I could slay the white people like sheep.

—King, an American slave, on learning of an impending rebellion, Virginia, 1800, quoted in Egerton, Gabriel’s Rebellion

Th e epic slave uprising in Haiti that began in 1791 and culminated in Haitian independence in 1804 (see Introduction) may be the slave rebellion best suited to a genocide studies perspective. It is to my knowledge the only one to have received a sustained scholarly treatment in this context.1

As with the peasant uprisings discussed below, it is hardly surprising that, despite their oppressive conditions, slaves rarely rose up against their masters. Like serfs and other populations whose labor is highly coerced, they were usually unarmed and tightly constrained in their contacts with potential

48

confederates (and were, moreover, overwhelmingly illiterate). Only in excep-tional circumstances did conditions support widespread eruptions, and even these were highly unlikely to succeed against the massed repressive forces of the state or other constituted authority. In the Haitian case, these circum-stances included the heavy concentration and demographic preponderance of slaves on the Northern Plain of Saint-Domingue, as well as the high pro-portion of slaves born in Africa. Tens of thousands of slaves shared memo-ries of African freedom, along with cultural and linguistic bonds that greatly facilitated conspiracy. A dialectic thus emerged in which the genocidal insti-tution of slavery in Saint-Domingue, by importing so many new slaves unac-customed to bondage to replace those rapidly worked to death, sowed the seeds of its own genocidal destruction.

Given the constraints described, most slave rebellions containing a geno-cidal kernel were brief and localized (or regional) outbreaks. Usually, they were rapidly suppressed, at mortal cost to their planners and participants. An early nineteenth-century example, directly inspired by the Haitian rebellion, was the Aponte Rebellion in Cuba (1812). It killed relatively few whites (fewer than a dozen), but was so palpably a refl ection of subaltern frustrations and hatreds and elite fears that, according to Matt Childs, it galvanized Cuban culture at both popular and elite levels for decades—at least through to the fi nal abolition of slavery in 1886. Refl ecting the overlap between performative and atrocious aspects of subaltern genocide (see chapter 9), Childs notes the infl uence of revo-lutionary “songs and chants” on the Aponte rebels. Th ese “played an important role in organizing the rebellion,” and included such classic subaltern articula-tions of a “world turned upside down” as the following (sung in Spanish, lan-guage of the oppressor):

Donde come mi amo, Where my master eats,como yo; I eat;donde duerme mi amo, Where my master sleeps,duermo yo; I sleep;donde jode mi amo, Where my master fucks,jodo yo. I fuck.2

David Brion Davis’s magisterial summary of a lifetime’s research on Atlantic slavery, Inhuman Bondage, cites diverse examples from the United States of a genocidal strand manifested in violent slave insurrections. In the 1822 Denmark Vesey conspiracy in South Carolina, for example, witnesses stated that slave leader Vesey “exhorted his followers ‘not to spare one white skin alive, as this was the plan they pursued in Santo Domingo’”—that is, during the Haitian revolu-tion. Vesey also cited biblical verses such as Deuteronomy 20:10–18, which he presented, in another witness’s recollection, as God’s command “that all should be cut off , both men, women, and children.” (Rolla Bennett, another slave leader, supplied a diff erent interpretation of the passages from Deuteronomy. Women, he argued, should be preserved alive aft er white males were killed, because “we know what to do with the wenches.” According to Davis, he “even boasted that the governor’s daughter would be his future ‘wench.’”)3

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Th e best-known American slave rebellion was Nat Turner’s revolt in Virginia in 1831, immortalized by William Styron in a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel.4 Th is campaign “was primarily aimed at killing whites,” and, according to Davis, it did so on a substantial scale:

Turner’s revolt began in the dark early hours of August 22, 1831, in Southampton County, Virginia, a somewhat isolated rural region in which most whites owned only a few slaves and many owned none at all. Starting with Turner’s “own” white family (he was legally owned by the nine-year-old Putnam Moore), Turner and his followers killed all the whites in one farmhouse aft er another as they moved by horse through the countryside. While there is no evidence of rape, plunder, or burning houses, the blacks—eventually but briefl y including some fi ft y to sixty mounted insurgents—murdered nearly sixty whites, most of them women and children.5

Other examples can be cited from the history of slave rebellions in North America, the Caribbean, and Brazil—and doubtless from other parts of the world. It should be emphasized, however, that such genocidally tinged campaigns are rather rare in the historical record, and not only because of the logistical and military challenges of coordinating a widespread violent campaign against colo-nizers and racial oppressors. We should reckon, in addition, with a regular and surprising propensity of subaltern populations, when they gain the upper hand, to extend mercy to their oppressors. In the great Jamaican uprising of 1831, for instance, Davis, citing eyewitness accounts, notes that “despite the destruction of these sugar estates, the causes and scenes of their life-long trials and degradation, tears, and blood,” rebellious slaves took notable care to avoid violating the physi-cal integrity of their tormentors: “amid the wild excitement of the night, not one freeman’s life was taken, not one freewoman molested by the insurgent slaves.” Incitement to restraint rather than vengeance by the movement’s leaders appears to have been key. Samuel ‘Daddy’ Sharpe “urge[d] his followers ‘to drive the whites off the estates but not to harm them except in self-defense.’”6

In other cases, subaltern populations—like other conquerors—may choose to preserve former hegemons alive, consigning them to subordinate roles that doubt-less aff ord considerable psychological gratifi cation to the formerly oppressed. For example, the period of “low-intensity confl ict” in Yucatán following the Caste War of 1847–49 was marked by sporadic but substantial massacres of Ladino (Hispanic-identifi ed) populations. But it also featured the widespread enslavement, rather than outright extermination, of captured whites. Nelson Reed reports:

And there were the white slaves. Th e wasteful slaughter of Bacalar would not be repeated by a more confi dent Cruzob [the mobilized Mayan population]. By Ladino count, 500 prisoners were taken in 1859 but only 200 of them killed. Women were kept in thatched barracks in the church compound and used as domestic servants by the Tatich [Mayan leader] and commandants, the more attractive ones also serving in the higher-ranking hammocks. Men were par-celed out to work in the fi elds, to cut wood, burn lime, and haul stone for the new buildings, and to serve as teachers of music, Spanish, reading, and writing. It was a very complete reversal of roles: the master had become a slave and the slave a master, with whip and gun in his hand.7

On the Geno cidal Aspect of Certain Subaltern Uprisings

50

Surely the “mercy” extended under such circumstances was strictly limited. But these instances suggest that subaltern rage may be bounded in its extermina-tory expression—especially, perhaps, at later stages of revolt. In chapter 9 I return to this subject and inquire whether attention to it may assist in constructing a “phase model” of subaltern genocidal outbreaks.

Native RebellionsTh e example of our actions has made the

savages nearly as bad as ourselves.

—Voltaire, writing to Jean-Jacques Rousseau on the North American “Indian wars,” 1755, quoted in Vidal, Palimpsest: A Memoir

Nicholas Robins’s trailblazing research on native uprisings in the Americas, sampled in chapter 1 and explored at greater length in both Genocide and Millen-nialism in Upper Peru and Native Insurgencies and the Genocidal Impulse in the Americas, provides a rich portrait of key revolts in which a millenarian vision was paired with a genocidal strategy. In addition to the Andean and New Mexican revolts examined in the preceding chapter, Robins has incorporated in his inves-tigations the Caste War of Yucatán (usually dated as 1847–49, although residual confl ict stretched to the dawn of the twentieth century). Th is ferocious race war featured genocidal atrocities on both sides, with up to 200,000 killed. Against a backdrop of hyper-exploitation of Indian labor on the henequen plantations that dominated the Yucatecan economy, the precipitating event was a genocidal massacre of Maya by Hispanics/Ladinos/whites8 at Tepich in July 1847. In the most intense phase of the violence, lasting to 1849, Robins fi nds the “genocidal tendency” to have been “quite pronounced”:

Th e clearest indication of the exterminatory aims of the rebels was expressed in their actions and sometimes in their words. Civilians and those identifi ed as Hispanics were clearly rebel targets. In January 1847, when the Indians nomi-nally led by Antonio Trujeque stormed Valladolid, some shouted, “Kill those who have shirts!” Six months later, an Indian spy for the Hispanics reported that the natives gathering at Jacinto Pat’s hacienda at Culumpich were organiz-ing “a great conspiracy against the white race.” At the outbreak of the rebel-lion, on July 30, 1847, the rebels screamed, “Perish the Whites!” as they attacked Tepich. During this time they were also “announcing their war of extermina-tion.” Indian prisoners from the siege of Peto in January 1948 acknowledged “the existence of a conspiracy” to exterminate the Hispanics. In town aft er town, such as Kancaboonot, Santa María, Valladolid, Sitilpech, and others, the rebels killed people on the basis of race or perceived racial affi nity.9

Native atrocities likewise fi gure prominently in the history of native-white interaction in North and South America. Th e tit-for-tat character of much fron-tier violence is evident in detailed accounts like John Ellis’s Th e First Way of War and William Osborn’s Th e Wild Frontier.10 Large-scale uprisings like the Andean and Pueblo revolts were aimed at a genocidal “fi nal solution” to white settlement

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through root-and-branch extermination of the colonizer population, usually wed-ded to a millennial vision of native resurrection. An example is the Red Sticks upris-ing among Creeks in 1813. Th e rallying cry of the Red Sticks (so named because of the color of their war clubs) is one of the more chilling calls to arms in recent centu-ries: “War now. War forever. War upon the living. War upon the dead; dig up their corpses from the grave; our country must give no rest to a white man’s bones.”11

As such injunctions attest, native insurgents—like subaltern actors the world over—attached great signifi cance to symbolic and ritualistic forms of rebellion. What was rhetorical in the Red Sticks’ battle cry was actualized in earlier confl icts like King Philip’s War of 1675–76, in what would become the northeast United States. In her study of the war and its role in forming American identity, Jill Lepore describes intricately coded tortures, mutilations, and other atrocities infl icted by members of the Algonquian nation upon the European settlers, with whom they were much more evenly matched militarily than would be true in subsequent cen-turies. “New England’s Algonquians were attempting, in small, physical dramas, to turn the English world inside out and upside down”; they “sought to cultivate chaos” and to “disorder . . . English society.” Lepore cites the Algonquian practice of “burying English captives alive and taunting them, ‘You English since you came into this Countrey [sic] have grown exceedingly above the Ground, let us now see how you will grow when Planted into the Ground.’”12

Even today, one does not have to dig very deep into the discourse of indigen-ism to fi nd echoes—fortunately distant—of such motifs. Bolivia has witnessed a profound resurgence of the expression of indigenous identity and culture. Th e fi rst indigenous president, Evo Morales, is a moderate fi gure, but there are many more radical voices that have fomented the blockades and resistance to resource exploitation in recent years. Perhaps the best known is Felipe Quispe, the Aymara Indian whose “bitterness and venom” shocked the country’s pigmentocratic elite, according to Amy Chua. Quispe’s comments exhibited a fi nely tuned sense of past humiliations and their power to mobilize subaltern populations in the pres-ent. “Aft er negotiations between protesting Amerindian farmers and the cabinet broke down, Quispe shouted at the (white) minister: ‘Th e whites should leave the country. We cannot negotiate the blood of my brothers. Kill me if you are men!’ Years before, when asked by a journalist why he was engaging in terrorist activity, Quispe lashed back, ‘So that my daughter will not have to be your maid.’”13

Peasant Jacqueries

“I am horrifi ed!” wrote Mexican intellectual Francisco Bulnes in 1910, decrying the agrarian radicalism preached by Otilio Montaño, a schoolteacher who strongly infl uenced peasant leader Emiliano Zapata. For Bulnes, Zapata and his legions of “illiterate, darkskinned and crooked peasants” had “raised the holy banner of the war of the poor against the rich”:

Everything now belongs to the poor; the haciendas, with all their land and waters, cattle and brush pasture; the women, the honor and the life of those who are not


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Indians. Crime is being preached like a new Gospel, the landowners are to be killed like vipers, smashing their heads with a stone. Th eir wives and children belong to the people, in revenge for the wantonness of untrammelled hacienda owners, violators of the virgins of the people.14

Bulnes’s vision of class annihilation is typical of the nightmares of hegemonic actors throughout history. In these fevered imaginings, the resentful poor are always on the verge of rising up to slaughter their overlords. But the terror at the heart of these dreams is hardly baseless. Th e greatest uprisings in human history have been peasant revolts—the nineteenth-century Taiping Rebellion in China alone mobi-lized tens of millions of peasants, and its suppression may have claimed upward of 20 million lives.15 Instances of peasant revolt (jacquerie) on a greater or lesser scale are scattered throughout the history of nearly every European country.

Th e motives for such uprisings are not diffi cult to discern: material depri-vation combined with a consuming sense of oppression, injustice, and exploita-tion. Th e Croquant rebels who rose in Périgord, France, between 1637 and 1641, repeatedly declared their unwillingness to bow before “oppression”—”the word recurs four times” in their “Declaration of the Assembled Communities,” as Yves-Marie Bercé notes. And so “the rebels . . . cried death to their oppressors, and vowed to exterminate them.” Such subaltern revolts are depicted as “act[s] of jus-tice and cleansing.”16 Th e cry for justice almost always features. Th e world is to be turned upside down; the mighty will be brought low; a just order will prevail. English radicals of the mid-seventeenth century cheered proclamations like that of Quaker leader George Fox, in 1653: “O ye great men and rich men of the earth! Weep and howl for your misery that is coming. . . . Th e fi re is kindled, the day of the Lord is appearing, a day of howling. . . . All the loft iness of men must be laid low.”17 From the other side of the world, a Vietnamese folk song expressed a simi-lar vision, minus the fi re and brimstone:

Th e son of the king becomes kingTh e son of the pagoda caretaker knows only how to sweep

with the leaves of the banyan tree.When the people rise up,Th e son of the king, defeated, will go sweep the pagoda.18

Such peasant revolts, like native uprisings, regularly display a millenarian dimension.19 Yves-Marie Bercé describes the peasant rebels of early modern France as “looking back to a golden age of freedom . . . the return of a mythical past. Th ey located this past in the reign of a king with a legendary reputation for justice.”20 Eric Wolf ’s survey Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century likewise notes that it is “peasant anarchism [rejection of state authority]” combined with “an apocalyptic vision of the world” that “together, provide the ideological fuel that drives the rebellious peasantry.”21

Millenarian revolts by subaltern masses are frequently, by disposition or direc-tion, anti-modern and primitivist in their orientation. Ben Kiernan, in his recent book Blood and Soil, has examined the atavistic element in genocidal ideology, extending back millennia. Th e elements of “pastoral romance, agrarian ideals, or historical myth,” Kiernan writes, were combined with “striking” frequency in geno-

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cidal outbreaks. All “share a basis in the utopian, the intangible, the irrational.” In their most extreme form, they generate the “violent racism” and “aggression” that underpin genocide and other forms of mass violence.22

Modern Anti-Colonial Rebellions

Violence by natives against their overlords, wrote Frantz Fanon in Th e Wretched of the Earth, is “a cleansing force. It frees the native from his inferiority complex and from his despair and inaction; it makes him fearless and restores his self-respect.” It exposes the settler to vengeful victimization according to the same binary racial categories that colonialism had constructed: “To the saying ‘All natives are the same’ the colonized person replies, ‘All settlers are the same.’” And violence melds the native masses, driving them irresistibly forward. It “binds them together as a whole, since each individual forms a violent link in the great chain, a part of the great organism of violence which has surged upward in reaction to the settler’s violence in the beginning.” “Th e native,” Fanon asserts, “is an oppressed person whose permanent dream is to become the persecutor.”23

Fanon is viewed as the oracle of the Algerian revolution of 1954–62, and in this, one of the bloodiest anti-colonial wars of the twentieth century, many mili-tants proved willing to infl ict indiscriminate “retributive” violence against the colonizer. Sometimes this took the form of terrorist attacks on civilians, of the type evoked unforgettably in the café-bombing scene of Gillo Pontecorvo’s 1966 fi lm Th e Battle of Algiers. Massacres of French civilians were also accomplished by more traditional means. Provoked by the vicious ratissages (rat-hunts) conducted by French forces against guerrillas and their supporters, the National Liberation Front (FLN) “launch[ed], for the fi rst time, a policy of total war on all French civilians, regardless of age and sex.” In terms echoing those of Fanon, FLN Youssef Zighout declared: “To colonialism’s policy of collective repression we must reply with collective reprisals against the Europeans, military and civil, who are all united behind the crimes committed upon our people. For them, no pity, no quar-ter!” Th e most notorious massacre occurred in and around Philippeville in August 1954, when the FLN mobilized mobs and death squads to kill over a hundred civilians across a wide area. At El-Halia, the killers, led by mineworkers,

went from house to house, mercilessly slaughtering all the occupants regardless of sex or age, and egged on by Muslim women with their eerie you-you chanting. . . . In houses literally awash with blood, European mothers were found with their throats slit and their bellies slashed open by bill-hooks. Children had suff ered the same fate, and infants in arms had had their brains dashed out against the wall. Four families had been wiped out down to the last member. . . . Men returning home from the mine had been ambushed in their cars and hacked to pieces. Altogether thirty-seven Europeans had died, including ten children under fi f-teen, and another thirteen had been left for dead.24

Th e Algerian war was a cataclysmic eruption, by comparison with most pro-cesses of decolonization and national liberation in the post–World War II period.


54

It was also a particularly vicious and murderous one. Parallels can be found in the subaltern atrocities against whites during the “Mau-Mau” uprising in British-ruled Kenya in the 1950s.25 More common in the contemporary era, however, have been anti-colonial and anti-neocolonial riots stopping short of systematic massacre, let alone full-scale genocide. Consider this news dispatch from Ivory Coast in 2004:

French troops clashed with soldiers and angry mobs Saturday aft er Ivory Coast warplanes killed eight French peacekeepers and an American civilian in an air-strike—mayhem that threatened to draw foreign troops deeper into the West African nation’s escalating civil war. Aft er France retaliated for the airstrike, thousands of pro-government youths, some armed with machetes, axes or chunks of wood, took to the streets of the country’s commercial capital, Abidjan. Crowds went door to door looking for French citizens and set fi re to a French school, sending a pall of smoke over the city. ‘Everybody get your Frenchman!’ young men in the mob shouted to each other.26

Or this, from Tibet at the time of writing (March 2008):Tibetans randomly beat and killed Chinese solely on the basis of their ethnicity. . . . A young Chinese motorcyclist is struck by stones. Witmore utters a silent scream to the man, “Keep moving!” but the motorcyclist stops, as if to reason with the mob. Soon his fl ashy gold helmet is off and the mob is pound-ing his head with stones and pipes. . . . Police fl ee, and by early aft ernoon the mobs have the run of the city. Th ey go aft er Chinese shopkeepers, who these days dominate the commercial life of Lhasa. “Th ey thought we Han Chinese people were coming to steal from their rice bowls,” says the manager of Top of the World Hotel on Ramoche Street, near the temple. She cowers in her courtyard as the crowd sets fi re to many of her neighbors’ businesses. . . . Riots spread to the Muslim quarter, targeting the Hui, Chinese Muslims who have been opening businesses in Tibet. Rioters smash holes through metal shop gates and pour in gasoline. A Muslim family later describes to Chinese jour-nalists how they hid in a bathroom as fl ames spread around them. Th e main gate of the mosque is set on fi re, but the mob doesn’t get inside.27

Such atrocities—pogroms, riots, and vigilante killings, as well as murders where an element of subaltern hatred may accompany motives of material gain—are not usually of a suffi cient scale and systematic character to qualify as fully realized genocide. Th ey are better placed elsewhere on a continuum of subaltern genocidal actions, among phenomena that likewise exude a “proto-genocidal quality,” serving as “an augury of extermination.”28 I explore the continuum of subaltern genocide in the closing chapter of this volume.

Notes 1. See Girard, “Caribbean Genocide,” 138–61. 2. Childs, Th e 1812 Aponte Rebellion in Cuba and the Struggle against Atlantic

Slavery, 129. 3. Davis, Inhuman Bondage, 224. 4. Styron, Th e Confessions of Nat Turner.

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5. Davis, Inhuman Bondage, 208. 6. Ibid., 219–20. 7. Reed, Th e Caste War of Yucatan, 175. 8. Robins notes that “although the Hispanics were referred to as whites, as elsewhere

ethnicity was intimately linked with racial orientation, language, clothing, and occu pation. At the beginning of the national period [in the 1820s] over half of the rural Hispanics were part Indian. . . . Th e insurgents . . . also killed Indians who, due to their support of the Hispanics, were considered ‘spiritual Spaniards’ and were oft en relatively well-off compared with the mass of rebels.” Robins, Native Insurgencies and the Genocidal Impulse in the Americas, 88. James C. Scott describes the continuum of “kulturkampf” (cultural war) that prevails in many subaltern communities. “Subordinate groups do their own patrolling . . . singling out anyone who puts on airs, who denies his origins, who seems aloof, who attempts to hobnob with elites. Th ese sanctions brought against them may run the gamut from small gestures of disapproval to a complete shunning and, of course, to physical intimidation and violence.” Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 130.

9. Robins, Native Insurgencies, 89. Th e devastation of the Caste War is still strikingly evident in some towns and villages of the Yucatán. See my photo galleries at http://www.genocidetext.net/gaci_yucatan.htm.

10. Grenier, Th e First Way of War: American War Making on the Frontier, 1607–1814; Osborn, Th e Wild Frontier.

11. Quoted in Wilson, Th e Earth Shall Weep, 156. Emphasis added. 12. Lepore, Th e Name of War, 118–19. 13. Chua, World on Fire, 50. 14. Wolf, Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century, 30–31.15. See the estimates compiled by Matthew White in “Statistics of Wars, Oppressions

and Atrocities of the Nineteenth Century,” http://users.erols.com/mwhite28/wars19c.htm. 16. Bercé, History of Peasant Revolts, 120, 238, 272. 17. Hill, Th e World Turned Upside Down, 234. 18. Quoted in Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 81. 19. Eric Van Young defi nes “a millenarian/messianic belief system” as a common

feature of “subaltern groups.” Such belief systems “encompass a number of ideas: that the end of the world is nigh and/or can be precipitated by the action of the chosen, that a divinely annointed [sic] (or divine) fi gure will lead the faithful to a better world through a period of travail and the settling of old accounts, that renewal will thus be spiritual as well as material, that the last shall be fi rst, and so on.” Young, Th e Other Rebel lion, 25, 27.

20. Bercé, History of Peasant Revolts, 276. Reynald Secher writes that for the Vend-ean rebels of the 1790s, the “‘old days” likewise were perceived “as a kind of golden age that was regretted, idealized, not forgotten, and that had been violated.” Secher, A French Genocide, 13.

21. Wolf, Peasant Wars, 295. 22. Kiernan, Blood and Soil, 23, 27. 23. Fanon, Th e Wretched of the Earth, 53, 93–94. Emphasis added. 24. Horne, A Savage War of Peace, 120–22. 25. See Anderson, “Killing Bwana” [i.e., the white person], in Anderson, Histories

of the Hanged, 86–111. 26. “French, Ivory Coast Forces Battle.” 27. Demick, “Witnesses to Tibet Violence Describe Scenes of Horror.” According

to “a 27-year-old migrant worker from Sichuan province,” “Th e Tibetans were looking


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for Han Chinese to kill, adults and children. Somebody told me they suspended these Chinese schoolboys from the beams inside the Jokhang Temple, to protest, I guess. . . . It’s normal for the Tibetans to hate the Chinese. You are on their turf, of course they hate you.” Quoted in Ching-Ching Ni, “Tibet Witnesses Describe ‘Mayhem Everywhere.’”

28. Horowitz, Th e Deadly Ethnic Riot, 459, 465.

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Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994.Fanon, Frantz. Th e Wretched of the Earth. New York: Grove Press, 1963.“French, Ivory Coast Forces Battle.” Associated Press dispatch, November 6, 2004.Girard, Philippe. “Caribbean Genocide: Racial War in Haiti, 1802–04.” Patterns of Pre-

judice 39, no. 2 (2005): 138–61.Grenier, John. Th e First Way of War: American War Making on the Frontier, 1607–1814.

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lution. London: Penguin, 1991.Horne, Alistair. A Savage War of Peace: Algeria, 1954–1962. New York: Viking Press, 1977.Horowitz, Donald L. Th e Deadly Ethnic Riot. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001.Kiernan, Ben. Blood and Soil: A World History of Genocide and Extermination from Sparta

to Darfur. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006.Lepore, Jill. Th e Name of War: King Philip’s War and the Origins of American Identity. New

York: Vintage, 1998.Ni, Ching-Ching. “Tibet Witnesses Describe ‘Mayhem Everywhere.’” Los Angeles Times,

March 18, 2008.Osborn, William M. Th e Wild Frontier: Atrocities during the American-Indian War from

Jamestown Colony to Wounded Knee. New York: Random House, 2000.Reed, Nelson. Th e Caste War of Yucatan. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1964.Robins, Nicholas. Native Insurgencies and the Genocidal Impulse in the Americas. Bloom-

ington: Indiana University Press, 2005.Scott, James C. Domination and the Arts of Resistance. New Haven: Yale University

Press, 1990.Secher, Reynald. A French Genocide: Th e Vendée. Trans. George Holoch. Notre Dame,

Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2003.Styron, William. Th e Confessions of Nat Turner. New York: Random House, 1967.

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Vidal, Gore. Palimpsest: A Memoir. New York: Penguin, 1995.White, Matthew. “Statistics of Wars, Oppressions and Atrocities of the Nineteenth Cen-

tury.” http://users.erols.com/mwhite28/wars19c.htmWilson, James. Th e Earth Shall Weep: A History of Native America. New York: Atlantic

Monthly Press, 1996.Wolf, Eric R. Peasant Wars of the Twentieth Century. New York: HarperColophon, 1973.Young, Eric Van. Th e Other Rebellion: Popular Violence, Ideology, and the Mexican Struggle

for Independence, 1810–1821. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001.


58

Ethical Cleansing? The Expulsion of Germans from

Central and Eastern Europe

ERIC LANGENBACHER

The defi ning historical event of the twentieth century for Central and East-ern European countries, and for their mutual interaction, remains World War II and the Holocaust. During this period, Nazi Germany waged

genocidal total war, killing millions of civilians, including 6 million Jews. Later, as the Red Army advanced into Reich territory in 1944–45, a massive fl ight and, later, forced deportation of Germans ensued. Th is ethnic cleansing—known in German as Vertreibung, or expulsion—lasted until 1949. It aff ected millions of Germans from the former Eastern provinces that had been attached to Poland and the Soviet Union, as well as from Czechoslovakia, other areas of Poland, the Baltic lands, Hungary, and the Balkans. Following the removal of the inhabit-ants, communist authorities almost completely eff aced the physical and cultural traces of centuries of German settlement.

Th is chapter has three parts. Th e fi rst section reviews the events, decision making, and post-expulsion fate of the expellees. Second, it analyzes postwar and post-communist discourses about the expulsion, focusing especially on the recent debates in response to plans for a museum/memorial devoted to the expellees. Finally, I conclude with some thoughts on international law, norms, and ethics. I do not argue that the expulsion of Germans was a full-blown subaltern genocide. It was, however, an unequivocal case of ethnic cleansing that many in Poland, the Czech Republic, and Germany nonetheless believe to be just—not ethnic cleans-ing, but ethical cleansing.

Th is element of “just deserts” attests to the retributory character of the deport ations, the subaltern identifi cation of their perpetrators, and the vengeful motivations—born of invasion and oppression—of key actors, including Soviet soldiers and the mostly Slavic populations of the former Nazi-occupied terri-tories. Even though many of the defi ning characteristics of subaltern genocide were present (one-sided mass killing, defenselessness of the victim, the role of the state), the expulsion of the Germans does not fi t unequivocally under

59

the rubric. Nevertheless, an in-depth overview and analysis of precisely such a messy, borderline case can illuminate greatly the more general concepts and classifi catory schemes discussed elsewhere in this volume.

Origins of the Ethnic German Populations

Few historical events are as fraught with complexity and controversy as the expul-sion of Germans from Central and Eastern Europe at the end and in the aft ermath of World War II. Every fact seems contested, and political-intellectual battles over interpretation are fi erce. Th ere are even extreme sensitivities over place names—Wrocław vs. Breslau, Szczecin vs. Stettin, Gdansk vs. Danzig, Karlovy Vary vs. Karlsbad—and over terminology: expulsion, transfer, resettlement, relocation, and ethnic cleansing. One would think that chronological distance would allow for a more dispassionate treatment, but this is not so. Th e events are not distant and abstract history, but very much present as collective memories and emotions.

Much of what I write about here needs to be carefully prefaced and quali-fi ed. In this chapter, I do not focus on the fate of Poland and Poles. It is an uncontested fact that the Polish nation suff ered immensely at the hands of Nazi Germans—5 million were killed (3 million of them Jewish), oft en in the atro-cious conditions of concentration and death camps.1 Approximately 17 percent of the prewar population of 35 million died—or 160–170 per 1,000—whereas in Czechoslovakia the toll was 21 per 1,000, and in France 13 per 1,000.2 Many civilians perished in acts of resistance or in Wehrmacht reprisals; millions more were killed by conscious Nazi/Wehrmacht policies of starvation.3 Moreover, millions of Poles and Soviet citizens were deported to Germany and forced to perform slave labor in wartime industries—2.5–3 million Poles, many of whom died because of the inhumane conditions. Th e Nazis murdered the country’s political, cultural, and intellectual elite, and willfully decimated its physical and cultural infrastructure—exemplifi ed by the destruction of Warsaw at the very end of the war. It took decades for Poland to recover from this calamity, as Nazi depredations gave way to Soviet communism and nearly half a century of con-tinued dictatorship. Th e thriving Jewish community, a central component of Polish life for centuries, was utterly destroyed and never recovered.

A second important point is that it was Hitler who began the modern round of population transfers in the 1930s and 1940s—beginning with German Jews. Nazi dreams of an expanded Germany—of Lebensraum (living space)—called for large parts of ethnically mixed areas of Poland to be “cleansed” of Poles and repopulated by Germans. Th e Nazis began to implement this policy in 1939, expelling almost 1 million Poles from regions such as Poznan and the so-called Generalgouvernement (Zamosc), and repopulating them with (oft en unwilling) ethnic Germans from the Baltic lands, Volhynia, and elsewhere.4

I also do not deal explicitly with the tragic fate of the 1.5–2 million Poles who themselves were victims of ethnic cleansing in the former kresy—the provinces of eastern Poland that Stalin attached to Soviet Republics (Lithuania, Belorussia, and

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Ukraine) aft er 1939 and again aft er 1945.5 Although ethnic settlement patterns were intermingled in these regions, many contiguously Polish areas, including the predominantly Polish cities of Wilno/Vilnius and Lwów/Lviv, were “cleansed.” Th e vast majority of these victims were resettled in lands formerly inhabited by Germans (especially residents of Lwów in Wrocław and of Wilno in Gdansk). Th e trauma of the loss of these provinces and cities, which had belonged to Polish states for centuries, still festers, and has inhibited a fuller normalization between Poland and Ukraine, Lithuania, Belorussia, and Russia.6

I should also clarify the German populations of the regions discussed in this chapter. Reichsdeutsche (Imperial Germans) had lived in what were before 1945 the eastern provinces of the German state. Silesia, Pomerania, and East Prussia had been part of a unifi ed Germany since 1871, and before that were included in other German states or empires (the Holy Roman Empire, the German Confederation, the Habsburg Empire, Prussia).7 In the Middle Ages, most of these provinces formed part of Polish or Bohemian kingdoms, or territories of the Teutonic Knights. All were included in the fi rst Polish Piast kingdom, founded around ad 1000. But despite the historical question of formal “ownership,” these areas had German majorities for the entire modern period. Before World War II, Lower Silesia (around Breslau), the Neumark area of Brandenburg, and the area of Pomerania around Stettin were 100 percent German; the rest of Pomerania, 99 percent; Danzig, 92.8 percent; East Prussia, 93.8 percent; and Weimar Upper Silesia, 57 percent.8

Volksdeutsche (ethnic Germans) are a more disparate grouping that refers to Germans who did not or never lived in a modern German state, although many had lived during certain periods in a German-dominated empire. Th e millions of Bohemian and Moravian Germans, later known as Sudeten Germans, had lived in contiguously German regions abutting the borders with Bavaria, Saxony, Austria, and Silesia since the Middle Ages. Many of them constituted a privileged ruling group during most of the Habsburg period until 1918. Th ere were also ethnic Germans in the region of Poznan and West/Royal Prussia/Danzig, who had lived in a German state for much of the modern period.9

Indeed, there were 2.1 million Germans in Poland in 1919. Two-thirds lived in regions that had been part of Bismarck’s empire (Polish Upper Silesia, West/Royal Prussia, Posen/Poznan)10—and Germans constituted two-thirds of the population of West/Royal Prussia and a third of Poznan.11 Until the mid- to late nineteenth century, many of the cities throughout Central and Eastern Europe were popu-lated predominantly by Germans (and/or Germanized Jews), including Th orn/Torun, Bromberg/ Bydgoszcz, and Posen/Poznan (which was 60 percent German in 1848); Riga (where German was the offi cial language until 1891, and a German aristocracy persisted until the twentieth century); Budapest; Prague (which had a German majority until 1861 and remained an important center of German cul-ture until 1945); and Bratislava (which was called Pressburg until 1919). Finally, there were more scattered German settlements in Yugoslavia (Donauschwaben), Romania (Transylvania and Siebenbürgen), Slovakia (Zips and the Carpathian Germans), Poland proper, Russia/Ukraine (Volhynia and the Volga Germans), and Hungary.

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Like Reichsdeutsche, Volksdeutsche were not late transplants—most had fi rst settled these territories in the Middle Ages.12 Josef Korbel, whose infl uential his-tory of twentieth-century Czechoslovakia is otherwise not very sympathetic to the Sudeten Germans, writes: “One cannot speak of the origins of the German minority in the Sudetenland in any sense that implies a policy of imperialism.”13 It is important to note that some of these “Germans” were actually not ethnically German, but rather Germanized Slavs—who had, voluntarily or not, adopted German language and culture. Mention must also be made of various “indige-nous” or autochthon populations—especially the Masurians in East Prussia and so-called Water Poles in Upper Silesia, who were ethnically Slav but with strong Germanic infl uences.14

Scale and Nature of the Expulsions

Th e populations described in the previous sections were the targets of the largest campaign of “ethnic cleansing” in world history, aff ecting 12–15 million Germans at the end of World War II and in its aft ermath.15 Th e expulsions caused as many as 2 million deaths, as well as featuring tens of thousands—perhaps as many as 2 million—rapes of German women by Red Army soldiers.16 Th ey began with the mass fl ight of much of the civilian population in late 1944 and early 1945 as the Red Army approached Reich territory. Th e Nemmersdorf (East Prussia) incident, in which the Red Army massacred an entire village, was heavily propa-gandized by the Nazi regime as an example of Soviet barbarity, with the intent of fortifying the population’s will to resist.17 Instead, a massive fl ight ensued—used later in communist propaganda to justify postwar territorial changes (i.e., the Germans’ decision to leave “voluntarily” meant that they no longer wanted to live there).

Th ere is substantial evidence that maximum fl ight was the intent of Soviet policy. Stalin and his communist allies wanted to create depopulated regions—”facts on the ground”—before the end of hostilities and a peace conference. Because the Nazis wanted the population to stay and fi ght until the bitter end, they did little to plan and prepare for the consequences of defeat. Evacuations took place late and haphazardly, which certainly contributed to the high number of casualties.18 Th e especially cold winter of 1944–45 intensifi ed the suff ering.

Th e vast majority of refugees at this time were women, children, and the elderly. Most adult men already had died at the front, or would die later as Soviet captives and slave laborers. Hence the overwhelmingly “feminine” nature of the events: Elizabeth Heineman calls this one of the key “moments of women” dur-ing this historical period.19 Th e brutality of the Red Army and East European partisans is amply documented.20

In addition to the rapes (as many as 100,000 in Berlin alone aft er it fell) and numerous murders of civilians, the Red Army constantly attacked refugee convoys, sinking many boats trying to evacuate refugees—including the Wilhelm Gustloff , oft en referred to as the biggest maritime disaster of all time, with over

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9,000 deaths.21 Again, this behavior was offi cially encouraged through policy and propaganda,22 in what Richard Blanke calls a policy of “ethnic self-cleansing.”23 Approximately 4–5 million Germans fl ed during these months, taking only what they could carry or retain aft er pervasive looting.24 Nevertheless, millions were left in these regions at the end of the war; and millions more returned aft er the cessation of formal hostilities.

Aft er the war’s end, Allied agreements validated the expulsion (which had already begun) of all Germans east of the so-called Oder-Neisse line—proclaimed as the new border between Germany and Poland—and from elsewhere in Central and Eastern Europe. However, early agreement in principle among the Big Th ree gave way to discord at the Potsdam Conference in August 1945. All present con-curred that Poland would be reconstituted, and that Germany would be punished territorially. Th e Soviets also made it clear that they would not return prewar Polish lands occupied in 1939, so that Poles from the kresy would need some-where to resettle. Although Stalin kept the full extent of planned changes vague, it was agreed early on that East Prussia would be given to Poland, cleansed of its Germans, and repopulated with expelled Poles. Th e numbers involved were approximately equal: about 2.5 million on either side.25

Potsdam was thus a fait accompli.26 All western leaders could do by that point was seek to mitigate the situation by insisting on “orderly and humane transfers” of population, which probably did reduce the number of deaths. It was left to the British press, Western civilian authorities, and the International Red Cross to raise moral and ethical qualms.27 Th e Economist wrote in September 1945: “Th e Germans, no doubt, have deserved punishment—but not by torture of this kind. If the Poles and Czechs wish to be rated higher in civilization than the Nazis, they will stop the expulsions at once.”28 Even Churchill, in his famous “iron curtain” speech of 1946, was highly critical as the numbers of those expelled mounted to three or four times what he had envisioned.

Importantly, the various governments-in-exile had contemplated expelling Germans from a very early point. Th e London Poles wanted East Prussia, Danzig, and the rest of Upper Silesia, as well as the return of the kresy. Churchill had to lobby intensely for them to accept Stalin’s plans,29 which were also supported fully by the so-called Lublin Poles, the pro-Moscow communists who eventually gained power. In the Czech case, territorial issues were less complicated, given that the Sudetenland had not belonged to a modern German state. President Eduard Beneŝ (forced to fl ee to London in 1939) already had contemplated ethnic cleansing from the time of the Munich Agreement (intensifi ed in response to Nazi occupation and crimes), but certainly not solely in response to such crimes.30 As Christopher Kopper puts it: “Th e expulsion of ethnic Germans from Czechoslovakia was not an act of spontaneous anger and revenge. Th e Czech plans . . . did not only refl ect the brutalization of the German occupation regime. From the very beginning, the concept of mass expulsion was a means to solve the general ethnic confl icts.”31 Beneš noted in 1945: “I declare categorically: we must get rid of our Germans, and they will go in any case.”32 Th ese nationalistic preferences helped pave the way for Western acceptance of such decisions.

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Th e eastern German provinces were quickly placed under Polish and Soviet (northern East Prussia) administration, and the Czechs emptied the Sudetenland of Germans.33 Aft er the end of formal hostilities, there were at least two phases of expulsion—the wilde Vertreibungen (wild expulsions), when many atrocities took place,34 and a more planned, regulated, orderly, and humane “transfer.” Aft er the process was complete in 1949–50, a small German minority still remained—many were actually autochthones who were oft en discriminated against by newcomers.35 Ironically, given how important these groups were in nationalist propaganda justifying Polish claims to these regions, the vast majority (1.4 mil-lion) declared their Germanness in the postwar period and emigrated to one of the Germanys as Spätaussiedler (late resettlers). Today, there are about 300,000 Germans remaining in Poland (concentrated in the Opole region), with offi cial minority status and full political rights.36

The Postwar and Postcommunist Era: Poland and the Czech Republic

Th e scale and systematic character of Germans’ erasure from these countries is diffi cult to convey. In the new western territories of Poland, all German place names were expunged and replaced with Polish alternatives, oft en created from scratch.37 Many of the cities and towns destroyed in the war were meticulously rebuilt, but minus their German signs and symbols. Derek Sayer writes of Prague that “the record of the Germans’ presence was swift ly wiped from the land-scape.”38 Gregor Th um deems this “the deliberate attempt of degermanization which I call the cleansing of memory.”39 In Wrocław, the government had special teams that roved for years painting over and chiseling out German inscriptions. Derelict German cemeteries were converted into parks, and headstones were used to line ditches and sewers. Many ethnically “cleansed” Poles from the kresy took up residence in the previous German lands—one of the prime justifi cations off ered for the Germans’ “transfer.” Th e majority of newcomers were relocated from overpopulated traditional regions in central Poland.40

Intellectually, the history of the German presence was expunged, and a nationalist narrative put in its place. National-communist propaganda created a distorted historical picture—a veritable “expulsion complex.”41 Edmund Dimitrów, quoting Borodziej’s infl uential recent study of Polish historiography, writes of an “arbitrary and tendentious” approach which failed to acknowledge “that expellees were defenseless people, the vast majority of whom were not personally guilty of National Socialism.”42 Vocabulary also reinforced the nationalist right of pos-session.43 When geographic monikers were not used, the preferred terms were “recovered territories,” “reclaimed lands,” or “western provinces.”44 Th e fact that these areas were under the control of the fi rst Polish Piast dynasty around the year 1000 was emphasized to the exclusion of any other historical facts. Indeed, postwar Poland is frequently referred to as Piast Poland, “which with the incor-poration of the Prusso-German eastern provinces, became an integral whole.”45

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Germans were recent, colonial interlopers46 who had simply been sent back to their rightful and original homeland.47

Accompanying this is an imputation of collective guilt to the entire German population. Top cultural offi cial Leon Kruczkowski proclaimed in 1949 that “the Germans are criminals—all Germans, the entire German nation.”48 In 1979, Karel Douděra expressed the offi cial Czech communist view that the expulsion “was not an act of vengeance, but an act of national and state defense.”49 Such per-spectives persist in many quarters today. In the postcommunist period, the rul-ing party until 2007, Law and Justice (PiS), stated in a parliamentary resolution: “Responsibility must be borne by the entire German people, the great majority of which supported Hitlerism and accepted Hitler’s rule.”50 According to this vision, as Jerzy Kranz describes it, “reparations have to be paid equally by the guilty and not guilty alike. One does not have to participate personally in a crime to be held historically or politically co-responsible for such an event.”51

Th is restricted vision of the past was accompanied by biting attacks on the West German government and expellee groups, whenever the issue of the expul-sions would arise. Th e Polish communists equated expellees with the Nazis, die-hard revanchists and incorrigible revisionists (Ewiggestrige). Th ey also adeptly stoked fears of a return of German aggression, repeatedly stressing how vulner-able Poland’s western borders were.52 Th ese rhetorical strategies were buttressed by the material distribution of former German properties and goods, creating a core group of supporters for the regime. Indeed, the expropriation of German property paved the way for the nationalization of the entire economy in both Poland and Czechoslovakia, and thus greatly facilitated the imposition and stabi-lization of communist dictatorship.53

Another regular emphasis was that Nazi German destruction was so wan-ton and atrocious that these lands were both just compensation and a form of retribution—also, given what Poland had lost in the east, a kind of “settling of accounts.” Communists also played on what has been called a “martyrological” memory—“Poles’ comfortable image of their one-nation state and of themselves as the nation of eternal victims.”54 Th is subaltern framing of history and identity was central to justifying, on both personal and political levels, the expropriation and expulsion of Germans. Sometimes overall numbers of the ethnically cleansed would be mentioned, without diff erentiating between ethnic Poles and Germans. Most commonly, silence prevailed—toward the expulsions and toward the entire German histories of these provinces.55 And Poles could always claim that Poland had no say over the postwar settlement—it was only “following orders,” dutifully enforcing decisions that it could not infl uence.56

Despite the consistent deployment of such tropes and propaganda ploys, attempts at reconciliation began in the mid-1960s.57 Noteworthy were the eff orts of churches in Poland and West Germany, including an initial 1965 memoran-dum draft ed by the Evangelical Church in which “it accepts the German guilt for Poland’s suff erings prior to and during World War Two, and acknowledges German liability for the crimes committed against the Polish population.”58 Also important was the 1965 “Letter of Reconciliation from Polish Bishops to our

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German Colleagues”—infl uenced heavily by the future Pope John Paul II—in which the bishops famously proclaimed, “We forgive and ask for forgiveness.”59 Th e implementation of Willy Brandt’s new Ostpolitik, his gesture of atonement at the memorial to the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising,60 and the Warsaw Treaty of 1970 led to a proliferation of offi cial contacts during the détente era—such as the joint history school textbook commission.61 Th e tone was diff erent with East Germany, given the (oft en forced) cordiality of communist brethren and the interactions that slowly improved relations. Yet the expulsion remained a taboo subject every-where behind the iron curtain. In East Germany, when the expelled were referred to at all, it was as Aussiedler (resettlers).

In the 1970s, dissidents in Czechoslovakia seized upon the expulsion of the Sudeten Germans as part of their critical agenda to delegitimize the com-munist regime and to change the culture of their compatriots.62 An intense samizdat (underground newspaper) debate was unleashed by the publication of Danubius’s “Th eses on the Deportation of the Czechoslovak Germans,” in which he wrote: “Masaryk’s nation had no ambition to act using the methods of Hitler’s nation; by this act it betrayed its most noble ideals and put the future into danger.”63 Th ese authors criticized Czech nationalism and chau-vinism, and highlighted the role the expulsion had played in perpetuating totalitarianism. Most important, for these authors, was the depravity of the actions, and the erosion of values and rights that they represented: they asked if “the moral question of whether it is right to punish inhumane treatment with further inhumane treatment is thereby glossed over by blaming the vic-tims collectively for the earlier behavior of a part of the population.”64 Th is history was also seized upon in Poland, most notably in Jan Jósef Lipski’s “Two Fatherlands–Two Patriotisms: Th oughts on the National Megalomania and Xeno phobia of the Poles” (1981), in which he called for an honest confronta-tion with the dark chapters of Polish history and the necessity of forgiveness and reconciliation with Germans, if Poland’s Western and European destiny were to be achieved.65

After the Fall

When he became president of Czechoslovakia in 1989, former dissident Vaclav Havel, as one of his fi rst acts in offi ce, recognized and apologized for the expul-sion. Welcoming German president Richard von Weizsäcker to Prague in 1990, Havel declared:

Six years of Nazi rule was enough, for example, for us to allow ourselves be infected with the germ of evil. . . . Instead of giving all those who betrayed this state a proper trial, we drove them out of the country and punished them with the kind of retribution that went beyond the rule of law. Th is was not punish-ment. It was revenge. Moreover, we did not expel these people on the basis of demonstrable individual guilt, but simply because they belonged to a certain nation. And thus, on the assumption that we were clearing the way for historical

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justice, we hurt many innocent people, most of all women and children. And, as is usually the case in history, we hurt ourselves even more. . . .We have to understand that it was not the German nation that caused our agony, but par-ticular human individuals. . . . In other words, to accept the idea of collective guilt and collective responsibility means directly or unwittingly to weaken the guilt or the responsibility of individuals. And that is very dangerous. . . . To impose the guilt of some Germans upon the entire German nation means absolving those particular individuals of their guilt and, with a pessimistic fatalism, submerging them in an irresponsible anonymity.66

Since this time, however, German-Czech relations have been strained, mainly because the Sudeten Germans and their conservative/Bavarian allies have called for the revocation of the Beneŝ Decrees.67 Such tensions peaked shortly aft er the fall of communism, and again in the years leading up to the Czech Republic’s ascension to the European Union in 2004.68 Aft er bilateral negotiations went nowhere, Sudeten Germans fi led lawsuits before Czech and European courts, losing each time, most notably in 1995, 1999, and 2002. Th e 1995 decision of the Czech Constitutional Court, described by the Czech press as a German “Trojan Horse,” upheld the legality of the decrees, and, breaking with all other legal precedents (including the Nuremberg tribunal), declared Sudeten Germans’ collective guilt.69 Even Havel, in an apparent change of heart, noted: “We are not prepared to let new storms wreck [sic] havoc in the area of property rights, and thus to resurrect all the evil spirits of the past.”70

Th e rhetoric on both sides was bitter. In 1996, Christian-Social Union (CSU) politician Th eo Waigel linked Czech membership in the European Union to revo-cation of the decrees. Czech prime minister Vaclav Klaus declared himself “sur-prised that anybody should wish us to speak about WWII with regret. I have the feeling it is the German side which should speak about the whole matter very qui-etly.”71 Another commentator referred later to neighboring Germany, Austria, and Hungary as the “European Axis of Evil” for pushing revocation of the decrees.72 In 2002, Prime Minister Milos Zeman stated that the Sudeten Germans were “Hitler’s 5th column that destroyed Czechoslovakia . . . [they] should be happy that they were only ‘transferred.’ Can you really demand reconciliation with traitors?”73 Such statements mirrored mainstream opinion: a “majority of young Czechs believed that the Sudeten Germans came to Czechoslovakia as part of Hitler’s occupation and deserved to be sent back.”74

Th ese issues were the major reason that the German-Czech Declaration was delayed for years until 1997. By contrast, German-Polish bilateral relations were considered exemplary during the 1990s.75 Toward the expulsion, however, a (national) elite silence persisted, albeit with a new hint of sympathy. Noteworthy was the speech of the Polish foreign minister, Władysław Bartoszewski, to the Bundestag in 1995, widely interpreted in Germany as an apology:

As a people that has been particularly devastated by war, we have gotten to know the tragedy of forced migration, as well as the related acts of violence and crimes. We remember that countless persons of the German population were also aff ected and that Poles belong to the perpetrators. I would like to

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say this openly: we lament the individual fate and the suff erings of innocent Germans, who were aff ected by the consequences of war and who left their homeland.76

On the ground, numerous expellees and their descendants traveled to their former homes. Large amounts of fi nancial aid and economic investment have also intensifi ed cross-border interaction, doing much to forge intercultural understanding. Academically and intellectually there was an impressive eff ort to fi ll historical and historiographical gaps in knowledge.77 Th e old communist/ nationalistic narratives were exposed to vociferous criticism; local history was recovered, and some of the German material presence has been restored, in regional centers like Gdansk.

Many of the new fi ndings and perspectives, however, have led to controversy —perhaps none more so than the publication of Jan Gross’s books, Neighbors: Th e Destruction of the Jewish Community in Jedwabne, Poland (2001) and Fear: Anti-Semitism in Poland aft er Auschwitz: An Essay in Historical Interpretation (2006), both of which unleashed a heated discussion about Polish antisemitism and col-laboration with the Nazis.78 Continuing debates that dated back at least to President Lech Walesa’s awkward comments at the fi ft ieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz,79 such trends were partially responsible for the general deterioration of memory discourses aft er 2000, especially following the right-wing Kaczyński twins’ rise to power.80

In sum, aft er the fall of communism, things changed, but not quickly or particularly comprehensively. Communist-era tropes and phraseology remain surprisingly common, as many contemporary travel publications reveal. Th e Polish National Tourist Offi ce’s brochure “Silesia: Main Tourist Attractions,” for example, states:

Silesia is a vast historical land in the south-west of Poland. . . . Silesia, in the past, was owned by diff erent rulers; the Piast duchies were passing to Czech, Austrian, or German hands—all the time it was a melting pot of nations, cul-tures and religions; and this is the origin of the rich cultural heritage of this land. Aft er 1945 the population of Upper Silesia inhabiting this land for generations, with their habits, folk arts, spiritual culture, was complemented, mainly in lower Silesia by the newcomers—Polish citizens from the former eastern territories of Poland, lost aft er the [Second] World War.

By such strategies, the German past is marginalized and eff aced in public discourse.

Germany

In the postwar Federal Republic of Germany (as well as the German Democratic Republic), about 25 percent of the population consisted of expellees. One of the most overlooked achievements of this period was the integration of this potentially destabilizing and irredentist group.81 Th e economic miracle in the West helped, by creating full employment and quickly raising standards of living. Specifi c state

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policies and institutions also aided—an entire ministry was devoted to expellee issues until 1969; the Lastenausgleich (equalization of burdens) partially compen-sated the expellees for their losses and helped them to build new homes.82

Th e expellees themselves were quite adept at self-organization. Th e vari-ous Landsmannschaft en (heritage groups) and the Bund der Vertriebenen (BdV, Federation of Expellees) were founded early, and have been constant and infl u-ential forces.83 Th e Sudeten Germans deserve special mention; they formed one of the most eff ective and well-fi nanced organizations, the Sudetendeutsche Landsmannschaft . Moreover, the vast majority settled in Bavaria—leading the Bavarian government to “adopt” the group as the fi ft h tribe of Bavaria, a close political relationship that persists today. Th ese groups, and especially the BdV, were a constant and eff ective special interest and substantial voting bloc that no politician could ignore—especially from the 1950s to the 1970s. Importantly, the foundational document, the 1950 Charta der Heimatvertriebene, proclaimed that “the right to the homeland is recognized and carried out as one of the funda-mental rights of mankind given by God.” Yet it renounced seeking retaliation and revenge for the “infi nite wrong” of the expulsion.84

Symbolically, a concerted offi cial eff ort was made in the 1950s to document the culture and society of the lost Eastern regions, focusing especially on the expe-riences of the expulsion. Every postwar government until the 1970s supported the expellees and their issues, and no West German government recognized the fi nality of the Potsdam settlement—including recognition of the Oder-Neisse border—until 1990. In society and culture, the expulsion, with the bombing of German cities and prisoners of war becoming a core component of the memory of German suff ering, was highly salient, even hegemonic in the early postwar decades.85 Robert Moeller’s (2001) seminal study shows how essential was the memory of German suff ering during the 1950s and 1960s, attested to by best-selling novels and memoirs, the so-called Heimatfi lmen (fi lms about the home-land), and commemorations.86 Manfred Kittel notes that many West German jurisdictions “adopted” a lost, eastern one, naming streets, schools, and even auto-bahn rest areas aft er the lost regions.87 In East Germany, the expulsion was taboo (as was the Holocaust until the late 1980s), but there was much propaganda about Anglo-American bombings constituting war crimes. Indeed, the commemora-tion of the destruction of Dresden took on national signifi cance.88

Th ings changed decisively, both materially and discursively, in the Federal Republic in the late 1960s and 1970s. Th e Social Democrats and Left abandoned and soon demonized expellee groups, the price to be paid for reconciliation and normalization with Eastern Europe—Brandt and Scheel’s new Ostpolitik. Th e degree of acrimony that this initial period of détente produced, along with the new partisan politics of memory and expellee issues, was a notable turning point in West German history.89 Th e SPD-FDP government disbanded the expel-lee ministry, cut funding for expellee activities, and refused to publish a report in 1974 on crimes committed against Germans in the course of the expulsion. Th e SPD newspaper opined that publication “would only help the Nazis here.”90 Henceforth, left ists equated expellees with revanchist, radical-right, neo-Nazis.91

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From that point on the expellees and their descendants became a core constitu-ency of the conservative CDU/CSU coalition.

Moreover, during this period many left ists came to represent Holocaust memory, asserting that the memory of German crimes must be hegemonic if the postwar transformation of Germany were to continue. Many thought that Ger-man public discourse could not accommodate memories of both German crimes and German suff ering.92 Th e children of the perpetrators (called ’68ers) compre-hensively questioned the Nazi-era behavior of their parents and the Nazi continu-ities in Chancellor Konrad Adenauer’s “restorationist” republic. By the 1980s, and certainly by the Historikerstreit (Historians’ Debate) of 1985–86, the Left had pre-dominated; most conservatives also came to represent these positions. Holocaust memory and its associated infrastructure, what David Art calls the “culture of contrition,” became hegemonic, as the expellees and their memories were not just outmaneuvered but demonized, and even worse forgotten.93

Th is situation changed slightly aft er the fall of communist regimes and the unifi cation of the country, but expellee issues never gained mainstream atten-tion. Despite fears that memory of the Holocaust and Nazi German crimes would wane in the face of a reunifi ed and normalized Germany, they actually gained greater prominence, as the seamless series of Holocaust-centered memory events since 1990 attest. Th e expellee plight was highlighted by the fi ft ieth anniversary commemorations in 199594 and in some literary treatments.95 Th ese develop-ments were strengthened by contemporary events in Rwanda and the former Yugoslavia. But the issue only really became manifest aft er 2002, with the publi-cation of Günter Grass’s novel Crabwalk and Jörg Friedrich’s account of the area bombing of German cities, Th e Fire.96 Judging by the media frenzy, these memo-ries and that of the expellees returned with a vengeance. Th ey did not unequivo-cally dominate the discourse (Holocaust-related memory events continued), but they gained far greater attention and even intruded on international aff airs, above all on German-Polish relations.

The Zentrum gegen Vertreibungen Initiative

Controversy over plans for a Zentrum gegen Vertreibungen (Center against Ex- pul sions) reveals the state of current discourse surrounding the expulsion. A foundation and fundraising strategy were set up in 2000 under the auspices of the BdV and several national politicians, such as Erika Steinbach (CDU), the BdV chairwoman, and Peter Glotz (SPD). Th ey proposed a commemorative and infor-mational center in Berlin, focusing on the expulsion of Germans, yet also present-ing other cases and sensitizing visitors to the continuing potential of such acts.97 Th e plans generated little attention until the summer of 2003, when they became a topic of debate, mainly in response to Polish criticism.

Many Poles voiced concerns that the German expellees, as before, were work-ing to achieve compensation, the right of return or a recovery of expropriated property.98 Th ey felt that the planned Zentrum would give “moral legitimacy”

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to such demands, calling into question Polish wartime suff ering, the memory of Polish expulsion from the kresy, and resettlement in the old German areas. More generally, they perceived a will to revise history, bolster German nationalism, and portray Germans as (sole) victims of World War II.99 One historian noted: “Consciousness is created by symbols . . . and this center would be their symbol, the Germany [sic] symbol, that they were victims, too, and that would be a symbol detached from the truth about the past.”100 Th e discussion heated up when the Polish newsmagazine wprost published a cover photograph of Steinbach in an SS uniform, riding and whipping Chancellor Gerhard Schröder, with the title “Th e German Trojan Horse.”

Many prominent individuals spoke out. Adam Krzeminski wrote that “Ger-mans are like bitter football players. With a Valhalla of expellees they belatedly want to reach a moral equalization.” He saw a “strengthened interest for one’s own past that is leading to a new cult of victims and to a German history of suff ering.”101 Marek Edelmann, the last living leader of the Warsaw Uprising, also criticized the initiative, asserting that the ever-arrogant Germans paid for Hitler with the expulsion.102 Leszek Kolakowski wrote: “A Berlin monument for the expellees would be a mistake. It could relativize the horrors of the Second World War and underpin territorial claims for which there are no justifi ca-tions.”103 Bartoszewski noted that “an old chapter is being reopened to manipulate people’s awareness” and proposed a counter-museum dedicated to the history of Germanization in Poznan.104

Criticism of the Zentrum initiative, shared by the entire Polish political spectrum, has been heightened by other memory issues. Claims advanced by the Preussische Treuhand—a rogue group of expellees which is suing in vari-ous jurisdictions to gain restitution (without governmental or BdV support)—confi rmed earlier fears, and motivated many jurisdictions to assert fi nancial counterclaims.105 Lech Kaczyński, as mayor of Warsaw, cited a fi gure of US $31.5 billion. In September 2004, the Sejm passed a resolution 328–0, demanding that the government launch “appropriate measures against the government of the Federal Republic” to ensure that Poland received adequate compensation for World War II–era destruction.106

Although most recent criticism has emanated from Poland, the Czech Repub-lic has also expressed negative reactions. In a May 2005 speech to the annual meet-ing of the Sudeten German Association in May 2005, Edmund Stoiber, Bavarian premier until 2007, criticized a statue of Beneŝ that had just been erected in Prague. Socialist Prime Minister Jiri Paroubek lambasted this as inappropriate “meddling” in the internal aff airs of the Czech Republic. A statement from his party went even further: “the Czech people heard similarly bitter assaults on Czechoslovakia and Beneŝ from the mouths of the representatives of Nazi Germany. . . . [We reject] the tone and words of Stoiber.” A major rift surfaced between the prime minister and President Vaclav Klaus, with the former advocating the compensation of anti-Nazi Germans who were expelled. Klaus, who had oft en criticized his predeces-sor, Havel, for his sympathetic and reconciliatory statements, deemed Paroubek’s perspective “exceptionally dangerous.” He reiterated sentiments expressed in

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May 2005, lambasting the “rewriting of history” and the inability “to distinguish between culprits and victims.”107

In Germany, although a few politicians and intellectuals defended the plans for the Zentrum, many voiced opposition. A 2003 manifesto condemned the ini-tiative as “one-sidedly national”; it was signed by Markus Meckel (SPD), as well as Grass, who was having second thoughts regarding points of view unleashed by his novel that highlighted German suff ering in the late stages of the war. Th e SPD-Green government also denounced the idea. Schröder, aft er meeting with Polish prime minister Leszek Miller at the end of September 2003, declared his fear that the Zentrum would be too one-sided, leading to dangerous historical revisionism and revanchism. A “Europeanized” solution was considered nec-essary; he proposed Strasbourg (others suggested Wrocław/Breslau) as a more appropriate location. Th e governing parties quickly followed up with concrete counterproposals, trying to outmaneuver backers of the Berlin initiative. A high-level meeting between Presidents Johannes Rau and Aleksander Kwasniewski in October 2003 resulted in the so-called Gdansk Declaration: “Every nation has the self-evident right to mourn, and it is our common duty to ensure that memory and mourning are not mishandled to divide Europe again. Th erefore, there is no room today for claims of compensation, for mutual attributions of guilt and for the reckoning of crimes and losses.”108

A follow-up meeting of cultural ministers from Poland, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, and Germany in summer 2004 advocated establish-ing a European network for the “documentation and scientifi c working-through of forced migration and expulsion in the 20th century,” based in Warsaw and (partially) fi nanced by the EU. By 2007, this initiative had been largely forgotten, and most observers concluded that it had been undermined from within, by the Polish and Czech governments.109 In one of the most forceful and direct state-ments of the SPD-Green government’s attitude, Schröder, the fi rst German chan-cellor to be invited to the commemorations of the Warsaw Uprising, in August 2004, asserted:

We Germans know very well who started the war and who its fi rst victims were. Th erefore, there may be no more room for restitution claims from Germany that turn history on its head. Property questions associated with the Second World War are not a topic in German-Polish relations for either government. Neither the federal government nor other serious political forces in Germany supports individual claims. . . . Th e federal government will also take this posi-tion in front of all international courts.110

Despite all this criticism inside and outside the country, the museum/ memorial initiative moved forward, aided by the change in government in 2005 and Chancellor Angela Merkel’s (low-key) support. In summer 2006, a tempo-rary exhibition, Erzwungene Wege (Forced Paths), was mounted in the heart of Berlin. It was met with bitter protests by German left ists and Polish national-ists. Indicative were the comments of Prime Minister Jarosław Kaczyński: “We wish that everything that is connected with the name of Mrs. Steinbach ends

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as quickly as possible, because nothing good will come of that for Poland, Ger-many or Europe. . . . [We must remember] who was the aggressor and who was the victim.”111

By fall 2007, a resolution had been achieved. Th e grand coalition agreed to spend 1.2 million euros on the Zentrum in 2008. Th e SPD did, however, make its support conditional on Steinbach and the Bund not being directly involved.112 Prominent socialist Wolfgang Th ierse stated: “Th e BdV will not be involved with the project that the federal government is actualizing. We will do every-thing that we can to make sure that the projects are not mixed up.” Merkel, how-ever, noted that “the commemoration of the expulsion is a ‘part of our German identity and a part of our culture of memory.’ . . . ‘We will not mix up causes and consequences when we commemorate the expulsion.’”113

Th is endgame proved much less dramatic than the previous debates. It was rumored that the German government had waited until aft er the predicted defeat of Kaczyński’s PiS in the Sejm elections of October 2007. Indeed, the new Polish government has been more neutral, although Prime Minister Donald Tusk also has launched a counter-initiative, a World War II museum to be located in Gdansk, observing that “we possibly could also end the shameful and end-less argument about the commemoration of expellees when we discuss such a project.”114 Nevertheless, the kind of criticisms seen previously did surface. Th e Central Council of Jews in Germany called for the BdV to forgo its “disastrous tradition of morally paralleling the Holocaust and the expulsion . . . want[ing] to treat the two in the same way.” Left Party deputy Ulla Jepke stated that the BdV relativized fascism, presenting perpetrators as victims, and that fi ft y years of revanchism was enough.115

Ethical Cleansing

Space does not allow for a full examination of debates about the status of “ethnic cleansing” in international law. Using the precedent of the Nuremberg Tribunal, some scholars have made the case that ethnic cleansing is a war crime or crime against humanity.116 Others believe that it is a form of genocide: they cite the 1948 Genocide Convention, which outlaws “acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial or religious group.” Rather than passing a verdict on this matter, I want to emphasize instead how rare it is to fi nd a case of ethnic cleansing that most observers do not deplore. Admittedly, in an application of “realist” thinking, some authors argue that ethnic cleansing can “solve” intrac-table ethnic confl icts.117 Others argue that no real legal redress is available, or that certain events happened too far in the past to be actionable. Nevertheless, identi-fi cation and condemnation of the acts as brutal, criminal, and unjust is typical.

As this chapter has demonstrated, however, this is mostly not true with regard to the expulsion of the Germans. In fact, many will not even classify this as a case of ethnic cleansing or expulsion. Elites in Poland and the Czech Republic still deploy embittered rhetoric from the communist period—evincing no sympathy, vilifying

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the expellees and their initiatives, barely recognizing centuries of German settle-ment, and emphasizing solely the victimization of their own nations by the Nazis. Th ese positions are widely supported in Germany as well—although there, a vig-orous debate covering all positions has taken place. One can only conclude that political and media elites (but not academics) in Poland and the Czech Republic, along with most of the German Left , believe that the “transfer” of Germans was warranted and eminently just. Notions of collective guilt and punishment are unquestioningly assumed, to ensure that Germans can in no way be construed as “victims.” If the Holocaust is for many the quintessential example of genocide, this is a paradigmatic example of ethical cleansing.

Interestingly, the publics of Germany, Poland, and the Czech Republic are more nuanced in their attitudes, displaying more empathy than their elites. Despite the rhetorical excesses of the last few years, 80 percent of Poles still think that Polish-German unity is possible, and a plurality believes that Germany is Poland’s closest ally in the European Union.118 Sixty-two percent would look favorably on having a German in-law; 97 percent are favorable toward German tourists; and over 50 percent have no problem with a German becoming a Polish citizen.119 A 2003 survey found that 57 percent of Poles and 36 percent of Germans thought that Germans were victims of World War II, just like Jews and Poles.120 In Germany, 31 percent (37 percent of expellees and their descen-dants) answered that “the Germans certainly committed many crimes in World War II, but that does not justify the expulsion of Germans from the eastern territories. Th e governments of the Czech Republic, Poland and Russia should apologize for that.” By contrast, 44 percent (38 percent of expellees) said that “fl ight and expulsion would never have happened if Germans had not commit-ted so many crimes in World War II. Th erefore, the governments of these coun-tries must not apologize.”121 Nevertheless, as Table 3.1 shows, in Poland and the Czech Republic, the limits of sympathy (and perhaps the eff ects of elite-level discourses) are apparent.122

Overall, however, assessments of this past may be less important than a rather pervasive indiff erence and a marked lack of knowledge. As Tables 3.2 and 3.3 reveal, mass publics in all three countries greatly underestimate the number of Germans expelled, while Poles simultaneously overestimate the number of Poles expelled from the kresy.123

Poland Czech Republic

Age 16–29 30–44 45–59 60+ 16–29 30–44 45–59 60+

Expulsion was justifi ed 66 72 66 73 61 76 71 76

Expulsion was unjust 18 14 15 10 14 10 14 13

Table 3.1 Was the Expulsion of Germans Justified? (June 2004)

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Distortion of history and forgetting may thus be the ultimate fate of the expellees. Th e subaltern identifi cation of the Polish inhabitants of lands and set-tlements from which Germans were expelled, and the broad moral legitimacy this identifi cation commands across Europe (even in Germany), combines with “collective guilt” even to undermine expellee claims for symbolic recognition. In this sense, they are very similar to the murdered Afrikaner farm families in South Africa, discussed by Adam Jones in chapter 9, who were likewise viewed as rep-resentatives of an oppressive former order, and to ethnic-Serb refugees expelled from the Krajina region of Croatia during “Operation Storm” in 1995.124 “Th e Serbs” were widely viewed as having “gotten what was coming to them” aft er years of war in which Serbs from Bosnia and Serbia had infl icted the majority of war crimes and other atrocities. Still today, they constitute the largest refugee population in Europe; but stemming from their popular identifi cation as per-petrators and human rights abusers, they are denied the kind of moral legiti-macy (and resultant policy initiatives) that Kosovar Albanians, for example, were aff orded during the crisis of 1999 and into the present vis-à-vis the independence movement.

Let me leave the reader with a quote, which nicely captures my perspective on current discourses regarding the expulsion of the Germans and other similar cases:

Of all of Poland’s neighbors, however, the Germans have the most reason to query the offi cial version of Polish History. . . . No amount of sophistry can dismiss the fact that the German element was dominant in those parts for the last six or seven hundred years. . . . Th e list [of famous sons and daughters] is endless. . . . Who is to say that so many distinguished names, and the ancient German communities which produced them, are now to be dissociated from the land of their birth? How, if they are simply struck from the record, can their evil deeds, as well as their noble ones, be remembered?125

Germany Poland Czech Republic

Mean Estimate 5.6 M 3.5 M 2.0 M

Actual Number 14.0 M 7.0 M 3.0 M

Degree of Underestimation 60% 50% 33%

Table 3.2 Underestimation of the Number of Expelled Germans(Germany, December 2002; Poland and Czech Republic, June 2004)

Total Population Expellees and Relatives

Mean Estimate 3.9 M 5.1 M

Actual Number 1.5 M 1.5 M

Degree of Overestimation 260% 340%

Table 3.3 Overestimation of Polish Refugees and Expellees (June 2004)

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Notes 1. Polish statistics previously reported 6 million deaths. Postcommunist scholarship

has revised that to 5 million, concluding that between 1.8–1.9 million ethnic Poles died. Note the problems of counting given the border shift s of the World War II era. For instance, how should Lithuanians or Ukrainians living in interwar Poland be counted?

2. Urban, Der Verlust, 94. 3. Hartmann, Hürter, and Jureit, Verbrechen der Wehrmacht. 4. Urban, Der Verlust. 5. Also, about 500,000 Ukrainians and Belarussians were deported from post-

1945 Poland—most notably in Operation Wisla in 1947. 6. Snyder, “Memory of Sovereignty.” 7. Silesia was Prussian since 1741 (and Austrian from 1526–1741), as was most

of Pomerania since 1720 and most of East Prussia from 1618 (although attached to the Margravate of Brandenburg and ruled by Hohenzollerns since 1525—and before that by the Teutonic Knights). Unlike Silesia and Pomerania, East Prussia was never a part of the Holy Roman Empire or German Confederation.

8. De Zayas, Nemesis at Potsdam, 54–55. Due partially to demographic growth in the more heavily populated western regions, German settlement began in the 1100s—called the Drang nach Osten (drive to the East). Th is process was offi cially encouraged by Polish kings (and Slavic rulers in Bohemia and Russia), who also called in the Teutonic Knights to fi ght the non-Slav pagan Prussian tribes on the Baltic coast in 1226. Some Slavs were displaced in these processes, but the vast majority of newcomers settled on previously uninhabited land and founded many towns and cities. Also, Poles had their own Drang nach Osten in these centuries, expanding into marchlands like the Wilno and Lwów regions.

9. West/Royal Prussia was attached to Prussia aft er the First Partition of Poland in 1772, although German inhabitants had been already there for centuries. Danzig had numerous allegiances (Hanseatic League)—usually to a Polish kingdom with a degree of independence—but became Prussian in 1793.

10. Blanke, “Th e German Minority in Inter-War Poland and German Foreign Pol icy,” 88.

11. Urban, Der Verlust, 28. Not all of the older Prussian province was attached to Poland aft er World War I—indeed, the area that became known as the Polish Corridor had a much lower proportion of Germans.

12. Th e last appreciable wave of Volksdeutsche had been in the eighteenth century, especially to Russia—Volga Germans—Romania, Hungary, and Yugoslavia (part of a repop-ulation campaign aft er the Ottoman Turks were pushed out).

13. Korbel, Twentieth-Century Czechoslovakia, 112. 14. A plebiscite held aft er the Treaty of Versailles in eastern West Prussia and south-

ern East Prussia where the Masurians lived resulted in 96.7 percent voting to stay with Germany. In the more contentious Upper Silesian plebiscite, 59.7 percent voted to remain with Germany and 40.3 percent voted to join Poland. In the midst of rather severe violence (the Upper Silesian Uprising), the area was divided between interwar Poland and Weimar Germany.

15. Rummel, Statistics of Democide, 133. Some authors assert that the ethnic cleaning of Muslims and Hindus in Pakistan and India as those two countries gained inde pendence in 1947 are comparable—certainly they are close in absolute numbers. Overall, however, there were more Germans aff ected; there were many more rapes and deaths involved in the German case; and Germans were the only group aff ected in their case, as opposed to two groups (Hindus and Muslims) in the other situation. See Bell-Fialkoff , Ethnic Cleansing.

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16. Rummel’s most probable fi gure is 1,863,000 deaths, 138. Many Polish women were also raped as Red Army soldiers did not always diff erentiate between Germans and Poles.

17. Aust and Burgdorff , Die Flucht: űber die Vertreibung der Deutschen aus dem Osten.18. Ibid., 21, 71.19. Heineman, “Th e Hour of the Woman.” Th e other two “moments” were the

bomb ing of German cities and the clearing of the rubble during and aft er hostilities (Trümmerfrauen).

20. Schieder, Th e Expulsion of the German Population from the Territories East of the Oder-Neisse-Line; Spieler, Vertreibung und Vertreibungsverbrechen 1945–1948.

21. Grass, Crabwalk; see also Aust and Burgdorff , Die Flucht.22. De Zayas, Nemesis at Pottsdam, 65–66.23. Blanke, “Polish-Speaking Germans and the Ethnic Cleansing of Germany East

of Oder-Neisse,” 284.24. Rummel, Statistics of Democide, 133.25. Later, Danzig and Upper Silesia (contested for decades and divided between

Poland and Germany aft er World War I) were also put into play—as was a small portion of Pomerania.

26. Th e inopportune timing of Churchill’s electoral defeat and Roosevelt’s death also greatly reduced the West’s ability to negotiate eff ectively.

27. Brandes, Der Weg zur Vertreibung 1938–1945, 449; see also R. C. Raack, “Stalin Fixes the Oder-Neisse Line,” 467–88; Frank, “Th e New Morality,” 230–56.

28. De Zayas , Nemesis at Potsdam, 99.29. Ibid., 47–49.30. Brandes, Der Weg zur Vertreibung 1938–1945, 462.31. Kopper, “Th e London Czech Government and the Origins of the Expulsion of

the Sudeten Germans,” 255.32. Ryback, “Dateline Sudetenland: Hostages to History,” 170.33. Th is legal situation pertained until German unifi cation in 1990—with the ex-

ception of the German Democratic Republic, where the Oder-Neisse “peace” border was recognized already in 1950.

34. Germans were shot/thrown off the bridge at Aussig/ústí nad Labem; the German population of Brünn/Brno was forcibly marched forty kilometers to the Austrian border; Germans were interned in the Lamsdorf camp in Silesia.

35. Linek, “Recent Debates on the Fate of the German Population in Upper Silesia,” 384; Blanke, “Polish-Speaking Germans and the Ethnic Cleansing of Germany East of Oder-Neisse.”

36. Urban, Der Verlust, 141.37. Linek, “Recent Debates on the Fate of the German Population in Upper Silesia,” 372.38. Sayer, “Th e Language of Nationality and the Nationality of Language,” 20.39. Th um, “Cleansed Memory,” 341.40. Given wartime deaths and the territory involved, there were not enough Poles

or Czechs to suffi ciently repopulate these regions—the German population displaced and that of newcomers did not coincide—and it took at least a generation for similar population levels and densities to be achieved.

41. Linek, “Recent Debates on the Fate of the German Population in Upper Silesia,” 374.42. Dimitrów, “Vergangenheitspolitik,” 252. Th e three major tropes utilized have

been deemed the “minimalizing,” “Potsdam,” and “migration.”43. Ibid., 245.

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44. Zernack and Friedrich, “Developments in Polish Scholarship on German His -tory,” 313.

45. Ibid., 312.46. Constantly mentioned was also Ostfl ucht, the fact that many Germans from the

Prussian/German eastern provinces had emigrated to the cities and industrial regions of the central and western portions of the country during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Such authors use this typical rural-urban, modernizing dynamic to indicate that Germans did not want to be there in the fi rst place.

47. Th is policy was also applied to “Germans” who were left —assumed to be Ger-man ized Slavs, simply needing re-acculturation.

48. Dimitrów, “Vergangenheitspolitik,” 236.49. Abrams, “Morality, Wisdom and Revision,” 238.50. Urban, “Historische Belastungen,” 34–35.51. Kranz, “Shadows of the Past in Polish-German Relations,” 35.52. Dimitrów, “Vergangenheitspolitik,” 248.53. Wolff , “Can Forced Population Transfers Resolve Self-Determination Con-

fl icts?,” 18–19.54. Linek, “Recent Debates on the Fate of the German Population in Upper Silesia,”

395; Ruchniewicz, Zögernde Annäherung.55. Dimitrów, “Vergangenheitspolitik,” 251.56. Urban, “Historische Belastungen,” 35; Kranz, “Shadows of the Past in Polish-

Ger man Relations,” 38.57. Gardner-Feldman, “Th e Principle and Practice of ‘Reconciliation’ in German

Foreign Policy,” 333–56.58. Görgey, “New Consensus in Germany’s Eastern European Policy,” 685.59. Th is was a major change from clerical and church behavior during the actual ex-

pulsion, where many Polish priests and prelates justifi ed and facilitated the expulsion of Germans—causing considerable friction with the Vatican. See Urban, Der Verlust, 132–38. Very early in the communist period, a deep and growing cleavage opened up between the regime and the Church. Indeed, the Church became one of the most important civil societal oppositional forces during this period—and especially aft er the election of the “Polish pope.” Th is pastoral letter also led to a wave of repression of Polish priests and clerics.

60. Krzeminski, “Der Kniefall.”61. See Ruchniewicz, Zögernde Annäherung. Relations improved at the societal and

cultural level in the 1980s with the support from West German political and civil societies for Solidarity and the packages sent to Poles oppressed by the imposition of martial law.

62. Hauner, “Czechs and Germans over the Centuries,” 127–54.63. Abrams, “Morality, Wisdom and Revision,” 239.64. Ibid., 241.65. Available at http://www.europa.clio-online.de66. Available at http://old.hrad.cz/president/Havel/speeches/1990/1503_uk.html.67. Kopstein, “Th e Politics of National Reconciliation,” 57–78.68. Both the Bundestag and the European Parliament declared in 2002 that the

decrees would not stand in the way of Czech EU membership, as long as EU law took prece dence. Nagengast, “The Beneŝ Decrees and EU Enlargement,” 344–45.

69. Ryback, “Dateline Sudetenland: Hostages to History,” 173.70. Quoted in ibid., 172.71. Ibid., 163.72. Nagengast, “Th e Beneŝ Decrees and EU Enlargement,” 335.

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73. Ibid., 340.74. Ibid., 341.75. Bingen, “Die deutsch-polnischen Beziehungen nach 1945,” 13.76. Mildenberger, “Funktioniert die ‘Interessengemeinschaft ’?,” 120.77. See Kamusella, “Ethnic Cleaning in Upper Silesia, 1944–1951”; see also Linek,

“Recent Debates on the Fate of the German Population in Upper Silesia” and Zernack and Friedrich, “Developments in Polish Scholarship on German History.”

78. Th e 2001 controversy arguably paved the way for the creation of the Museum of the History of Polish Jews, the building of which commenced in 2007 on a site just across from the famed Warsaw Ghetto Uprising Memorial in Warsaw. Controversy over the second book has led some Polish prosecutors to threaten to charge Gross for “slandering the Polish nation.” See Whitlock, “A Scholar’s Legal Peril in Poland.”

79. Wróbel, “Double Memory: Poles and Jews aft er the Holocaust,” 560–74.80. Lech Kaczyński became president in 2005 and Jarosław Kaczyński served as

prime minister from 2006 to 2007.81. Schulze, “Th e Politics of Memory,” 367–82; see also Kopstein, “Th e Politics of

National Reconciliation.”82. Harris and Wülker, “Th e Refugee Problem in Germany,” 10–25; Kittel, Vertreibung

der Vertreibenen?83. See Nagengast, “Th e Beneŝ Decrees and EU Enlargement”; Süssner, “Still Yearn-

ing for the Lost Heimat?,” 1–26; Wood, “German Expellee Organisations in the Enlarged EU,” 487–97.

84. Nagengast, “Th e German Expellees and European Values.”85. Langenbacher, “Changing Memory Regimes in Contemporary Germany,” 46–68.86. Moeller, War Stories; see also Benz, Die Vertreibung der Deutschen aus dem Osten;

Faulenbach, “Die Vertreibung der Deutschen aus den Gebieten jenseits von Oder und Neisse,” 44–54.

87. Kittel, Vertreibung der Vertreibenen?88. Ten Dyke, Dresden: Paradoxes of Memory in History; Norbert Frei, 1945 und Wir,

11. Several authors have pointed out that geopolitical Realpolitik made the expulsion taboo in the East and the bombing of cities by the Western allies rather taboo in the West (although much recent scholarship disagrees that this memory was repressed signifi cantly).

89. Kittel, Vertreibung der Vertreibenen?90. Ibid., 120.91. Madajczyk, “Th e Centre against Expulsions vs. Polish-German Relations,” 49.92. Eric Langenbacher, “Moralpolitik versus Moralpolitik,” 106–34.93. Art, Th e Politics of the Nazi Past in Germany and Austria.94. Naumann, Der Krieg als Text.95. Th ese include Walter Kempowski‘s multivolume “collective diary” Das Echolot

(Munich: Knaus, 1993, 1999); Dieter Forte, Der Junge mit den blutigen Schuhen (Frankfurt/Main: Fischer, 1995); and W. G. Sebald, On the Natural History of Destruction (New York: Random House, 2003).

96. Friedrich, Th e Fire: Th e Bombing of Germany, 1940–1945.97. Th e mandate of the Zentrum calls for fi ghting ethnic cleansing worldwide, the

formulation of a European experience in order to build a lasting peace in Europe, and working through history together with neighboring peoples to create a peaceful potential for the future. See the foundation’s website: http://www.z-g-v.de.

98. Some compensation estimates are as high as 6 billion euros. See “Handfeste Drohung,” Der Spiegel (39) 2003.

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99. Lutomski, “Th e Debate about a Center against Expulsions.” 100. Bernstein, “Holocaust Legacy: Germans and Jews Debate Redemption.” 101. Krzeminski, “Die schwierige deutsch-polnische Vergangenheitspolitik,” 3–5. 102. Urban, “Historische Belastungen,” 34. 103. Kolakowski , “Noch Einmal.” 104. Madajczyk, “Th e Centre against Expulsions vs. Polish-German Relations,” 65–66. 105. Rak and Muszyński, “Recent Claims against Poland,” 1300–1304; “Poles Angered

by German WWII Compensation Claims,” Spiegel online, December, 18, 2006. 106. Another festering dispute surrounds possession of the “Berlinka” collection,

pre viously part of Berlin’s State Library that was moved to Silesia during World War II for safekeeping, but which has been in Krakow ever since. Negotiations, ongoing since 1992, reached a low point in 2007, aft er a German newspaper ran an opinion piece that referred to the collection as Beutekunst (looted art). According to the Polish offi cial empowered to resolve such issues, Wojciech Kowalski: “Th e treasures were moved to Poland, which was then German territory. . . . Th ese territories became part of Poland. We found the treasures and saved them. Since it was abandoned property and former German property, the property was nationalized by the Polish state.” Dempsey, “Dispute Widens over Nazis’ destruction of Polish Art.” Foreign Minister Fotyga stated, “Rather, the German cultural treasures in Poland were ‘left behind by fl eeing Nazis’ at the end of the war and according to international law ‘they belong to Poland.’” Connolly, “Poles Furious at German War Booty Claims.”

107. “Schröder und Tschechen weisen Stoiber zurecht,” Spiegel online, May 17, 2005; “Who’s the Madman?” Economist, July 21, 2005.

108. Available at http://www.bundespraesident.de, October 29, 2003. 109. Dietrich, “Protokoll einer Ernücterung.” 110. “Rede von Bundeskanzler Schröder zum 60. Jahrestag des Warschauer Auf-

standes,” August 1, 2004. Available at http://www.bundesregierung.de. 111. “Kaczynski verurteilt Vertriebenen-Ausstellung,” Spiegel online, August 10,

2006. Mention should also be made of another exhibition that was curated by the House of History (Haus der Geschichte, Bonn), but staged at the German Historical Museum (Deutsches Historisches Museum) in Berlin in 2005. Ironically, this exhibition, intended to compete directly with and preempt Steinbach‘s initiative (revealing al ready the success pushing this memory into the mainstream), had a much more exclusive German focus than the vilifi ed exhibition of the Zentrum.

112. Th ey also mandated that the 2005 Haus der Geschichte exhibition (and not the BdV’s Erzwungene Wege) will be the substantive basis.

113. “SPD und Union einigen sich auf Vertriebenen-Zentrum,” Spiegel online, October 23, 2007; “Merkel kündigt Vertriebenen-Mahnmal in Berlin an,” Spiegel online, October 22, 2007.

114. “Poland‘s new premier proposes World War II museum in Gdansk,” Inter-national Herald Tribune, December 10, 2007.

115. “Merkel kündigt Vertriebenen-Mahnmal in Berlin an,” Spiegel online, October 22, 2007.

116. De Zayas, „Ethnic Cleansing 1945 and Today,“ 789.117. See Bell Fialkoff , Ethnic Cleansing; Wolff , “Can Forced Population Transfers

Resolve Self-Determination Confl icts?”118. Strzeszewski, “Opinions about the Polish Situation in the International Arena

and Relations with Germany,” 11.119. Bukalska, “G like German,” 57.

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120. Madajczyk, “Th e Centre against Expulsions vs. Polish-German Relations,” 63.121. Petersen, Zeit Fragen, 51.122. Ibid., 88–89.123. Ibid., 74, 75.124. See Nagengast, “Th e Beneŝ Decrees and EU Enlargement,” 339.125. Davies, God’s Playground, 525, 530.

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Faulenbach, Bernd. “Die Vertreibung der Deutschen aus den Gebieten jenseits von Oder und Neisse: Zur wissenschaft lichen und öff entlichen Diskussion in Deutschland.” Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte (2002): 44–54.

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Oppression and Vengeance in the Cambodian Genocide

ALEXANDER LABAN HINTON

To outsiders, and oft en to ourselves, Cambodia looked peaceful enough. Th e farmers bound to their planting cycles. Fisherman living on their boats. . . . Th e wide boulevards and the fl owering trees of our

national capital, Phnom Penh. All that beauty and serenity was visible to the eye. But inside, hidden from sight the entire time, was kum.

Kum is a Cambodian word for a particularly Cambodian mentality of revenge—to be precise, a long-standing grudge leading to revenge much more damaging than the original injury. If I hit you with my fi st and you wait fi ve years and then shoot me in the back one dark night, that is kum. . . . Cambodians know all about kum. It is the

infection that grows on our national soul.

—Haing Ngor, A Cambodian Odyssey

We cannot cut off their heads in revenge following our anger. I myself used to taste that taste. . . . [Let the matter]

be processed in a court case.

—Chairman of the Cambodian Military Court on prosecuting Ta Mok and Duch, Phnom Penh Post, May 1999

In April 2000, the Phnom Penh Post, an English-language newspaper, pub-lished an interview with a former Khmer Rouge cadre who had studied in Paris with Pol Pot and helped to found the Communist Party of Kampuchea

(CPK). When asked why Pol Pot killed millions of people, the former cadre, who chose to remain anonymous, replied, “As far as the killing is concerned, I don’t think it was only Pol Pot. It was more about revenge—the revenge with Lon Nol [soldiers] for killing their husbands and wives before 1975.”1 In subsequent parts of the interview, the cadre expanded on this assertion, which seemed to be related to his view that Pol Pot was a “gentle man” with a “good heart” who ultimately shouldn’t be blamed for the killing:

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So, when Lon Nol soldiers knew that someone was a former Viet Minh [agent], they would shoot and kill them without trial. Th en, you can understand that in the Pol Pot regime, they would kill people even though Pol Pot didn’t tell them to kill. Th ey just took revenge for their husbands or fathers and put the blame on Pol Pot. . . . Before 1975, there was also a war crime: what happened with the B-52s? . . . I am from Svay Rieng and Prey Veng, where a lot of my relatives were sad. I saw my relatives taking revenge with people from Phnom Penh. Th ey just waited for people from Phnom Penh: if they had a chance to kill, they would kill. . . . I saw that there was more revenge [by people] than offi cial order [from the top].

As the former cadre contends, revenge was an important motivation behind some of the violence that took place during Democratic Kampuchea (DK), the genocidal period of Khmer Rouge rule in Cambodia (1975–79), when roughly 1.7 of Cambodia’s 8 million inhabitants died from starvation, overwork, disease, or execution.2 In fact, revenge was a theme invoked repeatedly by many of the perpetrators and victims I interviewed to explain why the Khmer Rouge killed so many people. However, the cadre’s assertion that Pol Pot and other top offi -cials were unaware of and lacked responsibility for the violence (an assertion that these leaders have tried to make) is dubious.

Th is chapter argues that Khmer Rouge leaders directly and indirectly called for their followers to take subaltern vengeance upon the “class enemies” who had formerly oppressed them. I begin by examining the historical development of the Khmer Rouge Party line (meakea), suggesting that Pol Pot and his colleagues came to believe that the “science” of Marxist-Leninism enabled them to discern the origins of, and devise a solution for, the impoverishment and oppression of the Cambodian people. While the Marxist-Leninist and Maoist notions of exploita-tion made a certain sense to many of Cambodia’s poor, the Khmer Rouge leader-ship attempted to couch such philosophical abstractions in a manner that would inspire them to embrace the Khmer Rouge movement and to take arms against its enemies. To do so, the Khmer Rouge combined the new and the old into ideo-logical palimpsests, sketched upon the lines of cultural understandings, at once transforming and transformed.

Class Hatred and the Khmer Rouge Party LineTh e American imperialists and their lackeysTh eir lackeys owe us blood as hot as fi re.Th e hot and angry war ensured that Kampuchea will never forget the enmityWill not forget the severe oppression.Seize hold of guns to kill the enemy quickly.

—Khmer Rouge song, “Th e Motherland of Kampuchea”

One of the Khmer Rouge’s key ideological palimpsests centered around the notion of class rage, which played upon ontologically resonant local understand-ings of disproportionate revenge. In contrast to the oft en-cited biblical conception

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of revenge of “an eye for an eye,”3 the Cambodian model of revenge involves dis-proportionate retaliation against one’s enemy—what we might call “a head for an eye,” since disproportionate revenge is usually linked to issues of face and sometimes even decapitation. In an extreme situation like DK, disproportionate revenge could involve an attempt to kill a foe, or even his or her entire family.

To understand the origins of this palimpsest, it is necessary to examine some of the historical processes through which the DK Party line was forged. On September 27, 1977, for example, Pol Pot gave a speech, broadcast throughout the nation, to celebrate the seventeenth anniversary of the founding of the CPK. Th e speech constituted the fi rst clear public acknowledgment of the CPK’s exis-tence, Pol Pot’s leadership, and the history of the struggle that had brought the regime to power. Like all party histories, which reconstruct the past to confi rm a desired image of the present (for example, Pol Pot’s speech excises an alternative history of revolutionary struggle and association with Vietnam dating back to the fi ght for independence), Pol Pot’s is suggestive about the emergence of the party line and the high-modernist orientation of the DK regime.

By “high-modernist orientation,” I follow James Scott in referring to an over-weening confi dence in the possibilities of progress, mastery of nature, and human emancipation through the use of science, reason, and social engineering—a faith that has sometimes inspired authoritarian regimes to attempt to use their highly abstract and oversimplifi ed schemes as a blueprint for radical sociopolitical trans-formation.4 Because they tend to oversimplify complex, on-the-ground realities, these projects of social engineering have oft en ended in catastrophic failure. As was the case with the Khmer Rouge, such high-modernist faith and vision may also provide the building blocks for a revitalization movement, which, in a con-text of stress and upheaval, is able to attract followers drawn to their promises of a new and better life. I should also note that, in Cambodia, transformative knowledge is viewed as a form of power, one that may give the bearer the aura of potency. If, in the past, revitalization movements in Cambodia and its Southeast Asian neighbors had oft en been led by charismatic leaders claiming a special endowment of merit and power, Pol Pot and the CPK—particularly as exem-plifi ed by their quasi-religious and multivalent pseudonym, Angkar (Ângkar), or “the Organization”—similarly claimed a sort of high-modernist potency that legitimized their claims to power and their subsequent attempt to radically trans-form and revitalize Cambodian society.

Th eir sense of having discovered the key to ending oppression and revital-izing Cambodian society seems to have given Pol Pot and his associates a sense of omnipotence and grandeur, one that can be read in the lines of speeches and documents that assert the unique and unprecedented nature of their revolution-ary movement. For, like Buddhists who had achieved enlightenment, they had attained secret knowledge that would transform Cambodia and enable its inhab-itants to reach a higher state of being. In fact, Khmer Rouge ideology oft en played upon the theme of enlightenment when depicting Angkar through metaphors of clairvoyance and omniscience. Yet another strand in this sense of grandeur was the French reconstruction of Cambodian history, which provided a narra-tive of decline from the magnifi cence of the Angkarean era, when Khmer kings

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built impressive stone monuments and were a dominant military presence in the region, to the contemporary period, when Cambodia had become a weak coun-try dominated by others.5 Driven by feelings both of inferiority and of infl ation about what was possible, the Khmer Rouge proclaimed that their revolutionary society would surpass even Angkar in greatness, moving more rapidly and suc-cessfully toward communist utopia than any other communist regime.

Th ese views and experiences were to give shape to the development and application of the party line. Pol Pot’s 1977 speech asserted that Cambodia was plagued by two major contradictions. On the one hand, there existed a contra-diction with imperialism, especially U.S. imperialism. Cambodia remained a “semi-colony, in a situation of dependency” on exploitative imperial powers that impoverished the poor and corrupted Cambodian society. On the other hand, Cambodia was plagued by internal class contradictions. While contradictions existed between various classes (workers vs. capitalists, petty bourgeoisie vs. capi-talists, capitalists vs. peasants), the dominant one, Pol Pot asserted, was between the landowners and the peasantry, who composed 85 percent of the population.

Th e solution to these contradictions was to drive out the imperialists and their lackeys, the “feudal-capitalist” government that supported the exploitation of the poor. Th e DK Party line held that, upon attaining power, the Khmer Rouge would impose new relations of production that ended exploitation. Th rough this structural reorganization and indoctrination, or what the Khmer Rouge called “seepage” (karchreap), the masses would gradually absorb party ideology and be transformed into passionate revolutionaries guided by a proper politi-cal consciousness. In addition, the country would avoid foreign dependency and infl uence by adhering to a strict line of “independence-mastery” (aekâreach mâchaskar), one that seemed crucial given centuries of foreign involvement in Cambodian aff airs, culminating in the Vietnam War.

To achieve these goals, Pol Pot’s 1977 speech contends, requires recognition of “the key problem, the fundamental problem which was decisive for victory,” namely, to “arouse the peasants so that they saw [contradictions], burned with class hatred and took up the struggle.”6 If, in the past, such hatred potentially existed, Pol Pot asserted, it was “buried” because of the false consciousness of the masses, who were “deceived” by ruling-class ideology into thinking that their status was due to karma. Th e party line provided the means of helping the masses see the “contradictions” and the ways in which they were oppressed. For Pol Pot and his colleagues, then, one basic strategy for successfully waging revolution was to make the masses “hot and angry,” feelings that would ultimately be trans-formed into “class hatred” and “class fury.”

Class Revenge in Democratic Kampuchea

To develop ideology, so that there is always the revolutionary attitude and the class (proletarian) attitude in the party . . . is to conduct

internal ideological indoctrination so that the initial attitude taken is conserved fi rmly, and the Marxist-Leninist class leaning and


88

devotion to class struggle is retained always to win power by annihilating the enemy regime . . . and to create class ardor and

fury. Th is ardor and fury must be aroused according to the contradiction of the day whether it be large or small. Th us, ideological force will be converted into a burning material

force which will dare to engage in struggle, attack the enemy and win fi nal victory over the enemy even if he is very strong.

—Pre-1975 summary of annotated party history, quoted in Jackson, Cambodia, 1975–1978

To dig up grass, one must also dig up the roots.

—Khmer Rouge saying

To “create class ardor and fury,” the Khmer Rouge used notions like exploitation as an ideological “hook,” which tapped into preexisting feelings of dissatisfaction, unrest, anger, and spite and provided a foundation upon which revolutionary consciousness could be built. Simple sayings, songs, refrains, and leafl ets pro-vided a rudimentary class explanation for this sense of oppression; thus one pre-DK propaganda leafl et explained that capitalists “live in affl uence at the expense of the working class and the masses” who “live in misery, bled by them.”7 Th e revolution, the leafl et asserted, would “liberate” the people from this oppression and revitalize Cambodian society.

More thorough political education texts elaborated upon these points. For example, a August 1973 tract published in the youth periodical Revolutionary Young Men and Women asserted that “human society is divided into . . . the oppres-sor class and the oppressed.”8 Th e tract went on to discuss who oppressors were (imperialists, feudalists, capitalists, and reactionaries) and how they exploited the oppressed. Th rough such instruction, the tract proclaimed, the revolution-ary youth would “awaken and become aware of the national problem [and] the class problem.” Ultimately, such an understanding was supposed to result in rage: “Khmer youth, upon receiving this education in the political principles, the revo-lutionary consciousness of the party, all found rage strongly mounting. [Th eir rage] manifested itself as a struggle movement to contest American imperialists and the oppressor classes in whatever guise.”9

Ith Sarin, who spent nine months with the Khmer Rouge in 1973, provides a detailed example of how such indoctrination proceeded, as the regime attempted to instill “bloody” or “mortal hate” in its followers.10 At political education semi-nars, for example, recruits would study a number of documents, including ones on “Class Struggle” and “Revolutionary Hate.” Such instruction was supplemented by criticism and self-criticism sessions at which recruits were assessed in terms of their “state of morale [and] feelings.” Besides explicit discussion, revolutionary meetings also included artistic performances (or even funerals of those who had been killed in battle) that were designed to foment “revolutionary violence” so that the attendees “burned” with hatred toward the enemy.11 Th e ninth of fi ft een


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Khmer Rouge revolutionary precepts even read, “One must maintain a burning rage (kamhoeng chap cheh) toward the enemy.”12

To recruit cadre and soldiers and to increase their support among the pop-ulation, then, the Khmer Rouge relied heavily on notions of class struggle and oppression. As Pol Pot noted in his 1977 speech, the goal was to transform popular discontents into class rage that would propel the revolution to victory. By giving preexisting subaltern resentments a focus and target, and by attempting to trans-form these feelings into a “burning force,” the Khmer Rouge eff ectively encour-aged people to hold a class grudge (kumnum vonnah) against their “oppressors.”

Th e logic of the Khmer Rouge model of disproportionate revenge was as fol-lows. Th e oppressors had done “something bad” to the poor by making them suf-fer and lose face. One or more of these “happenings” led the poor to be “seized with painful anger” (chheu chap), which they stored inside themselves. Th e Khmer Rouge infl amed this hidden resentment into a “burning” class grudge that would motivate many of the poor to want to “eat the fl esh and sip the blood” of this enemy. Th e poor, however, needed a powerful patron to help them exact disproportionate revenge against this hated enemy. Angkar, the “Party Organization,” fulfi lled this role. Th is Khmer Rouge ideological model can be schematized as follows:

DK Class Revenge: “A Head for an Eye” (“Disproportionate”)

Event: Oppressors do bad deeds to the poorJudgment: Th e poor lose face and suff er Oppressors are “higher than” and “look down upon”

the poor Th e poor must return (sâng) the bad deed to the

oppressors (class grudge, kumnum vonnah) Th e poor should try to “completely defeat” the oppressorsComplication: Oppressors prevent the poor from returning the bad deedExpectation: Th e poor should return the bad deed to oppressors

(disproportionately)Moral Inference: Th e poor have a moral obligation to return dispro por-

tionately the bad deed to the oppressors Oppressors should receive the disproportionate bad deed

from the poor (Angkar as the powerful patron)Status Inference: Th e poor will be “higher than” their former oppressors Th e honor of the poor will be cleansed (star ketteyos) Th e oppressors will (one hopes) not attempt further

retaliation against the poorIt is important to note that the distribution, understanding, internalization, and

motivational force of this model could vary. A person living in a Khmer Rouge zone, where various Khmer Rouge indoctrination methods had been instituted, would


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have much greater exposure to this model than a rich person living in Phnom Penh, which is part of the reason why there was so much interest in Ith Sarin’s book when it was published in 1973—many people in Phnom Penh were getting their fi rst look at Khmer Rouge practice and ideology.

Similarly, depending on their personal histories and the social fi elds through which they moved (for example, their educational, class, or political background), a person might have a relatively deeper understanding of such Khmer Rouge ideological models. Pol Pot, who had been studying Marxist-Leninism since his years in Paris and who was a formulator of Khmer Rouge doctrine, no doubt had a more complex understanding of the regime’s ideology than did Ith Sarin. As an educator, Ith Sarin, in turn, likely understood the nuances of Khmer Rouge ideology more deeply than a poor peasant who had little formal schooling and who had received less political training. Refl ecting on the way in which he was indoctrinated, one peasant cadre recalled that the Khmer Rouge “told us that the poor were poor because of the rich and the rich were rich because of the poor. Th ey wanted us to become seized with painful anger about this exploitation, to hate and to fi ght bravely against the capitalist, feudal, and landlord classes, the rich big people who harmed the poor.” His basic understanding of class oppression, struggle, and rage was probably similar to that of many poor peasants in Khmer Rouge zones.

Th e motivational force and contextual salience of Khmer Rouge ideology also varied. Th us, the Khmer Rouge model of disproportionate revenge was likely more compelling to landless peasants who worked the fi elds of a landlord who paid them little and treated them with disrespect than to the landlord or a relatively wealthy peasant. Similarly, Khmer Rouge ideology was less appealing to most wealthy, edu-cated urbanites, who were classifi ed as “oppressors” and whose relatively privileged life experiences oft en made it diffi cult for them to sympathize with the plight of the poor. Moreover, because of the structural position into which “new people” (the urban population that was rusticated immediately aft er DK) typically were placed (having low status, being subject to dehumanizing discourses and practices, losing their wealth and homes, lacking former rights and access to power), this group had much less reason than poor peasant “old people” (whose structural position typi-cally improved) to “take” and be motivated by Khmer Rouge ideology. Th is is part of the reason why so many “new people” viewed Khmer Rouge slogans, songs, and meetings with indiff erence or hostility—in contrast to the recruits that Ith Sarin observed.13 Even within given socioeconomic groups, the motivational force of the Khmer Rouge model varied depending on life history, personality, and context. Still, the Khmer Rouge model of disproportionate revenge was a strong motive for many cadre, partly because it had an abstractness enabling it to encompass a vari-ety of sources of resentment and discontent (the “bad deeds”)—debt, impoverish-ment, hunger, shame, the destruction of one’s home and property, being bombed, the killing of loved ones, and so forth.

During the civil war, the Khmer Rouge attempted to focus these feelings primarily on the Lon Nol regime and the urban areas that it controlled. For the Khmer Rouge, the Lon Nol regime was the corrupt enemy “lackey” that defended


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the interests of the oppressive social classes and imperialists and protected the capitalist system these groups used to exploit the poor. As a 1973 Revolutionary Young Men and Women tract stated, this “traitorous . . . clique is a militarist, fas-cist representative for the feudal, capitalist, and unparalleled reactionary class that serves as traitorous, country-selling valets of American imperialists.”14 A current government offi cial explained, “Th e Khmer Rouge brainwashed people to believe that the Lon Nol regime was a capitalist regime, and that the very poor, who had been oppressed and swindled by the rich, had to fi ght bravely to defeat Lon Nol.” Lon Nol had overthrown Sihanouk. He could be blamed for the death and dev-astation caused by bombing. His soldiers engaged in close combat with Khmer Rouge forces, killing their friends and comrades. Such brutality was memorial-ized in songs, such as the following one taught to children aft er the war:

Baribo village sheds it tears;Th e enemy dropped bombs and staged a coup.Th e screams of a combatant; friend, where are you?Th e hated enemy killed my friend.When you died away, friend, you were still naked,Chest and stomach asunder, liver and spleen gone,You fl oated them away like a river’s current.Removal of liver and spleen is cause for sadness.Th e ricelands of my mother are far in the distance.Th e sun slants over the green hills.When you died away, friend, you reminded meTh at the hated enemy had swallowed Cambodia.15

Th rough such ideological discourses and practices, the Khmer Rouge helped fur-ther infl ame emotions, leading many cadre to remain “seized by painful anger” and to maintain a “bloody” and “mortal hate” for the Lon Nol regime.

Th e cities were similarly vilifi ed as corrupt and immoral centers of undue foreign infl uence. Even before the war, many peasants already felt somewhat disconnected from and wary of cities. Structurally, there were few institutional links between the urban and rural populations. In her study of Sobay, Ebihara also found that most villagers lived in a fairly insular world that revolved around family, relatives, neigh-bors, and the wat.16 While Sobay villagers did travel and have contacts beyond the village (the frequency decreasing dramatically with distance), most remained highly distrustful of strangers.17 Strangers were oft en suspected of being “people of bad character,” including “robbers, rapists, [and] murderers.”18 If some Sobay villagers, particularly the young, viewed Phnom Penh as exciting, many others found it “a welter of noise, confusion, crowding, unsavory characters, immorality, danger, and expense, to be endured only when absolutely necessary. Some people . . . [brought] back stories of immodest women, attempted or accomplished thievery, physical vio-lence, and other lurid accounts or varied complaints.”19

Th is peasant distrust of cities and this structural condition of urban-rural dis-connect allowed the Khmer Rouge to crystallize and mark the diff erences between the urban and rural populations. Th e Khmer Rouge depicted urbanites as corrupt beings who lived in luxury and sin—residing in huge homes, eating well, drinking


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cognac, and visiting prostitutes—while the masses were exploited and suff ered. Th us, in a May 12, 1975, broadcast, Phnom Penh Domestic Radio proclaimed that in the areas that Lon Nol controlled, “injustice, corruption, hooliganism, burglary, ban-ditry, and prostitution were overwhelming and became a natural and even legal way of life.” Th e “rotten culture” of U.S. imperialism, the broadcast proclaimed, had “poi-soned” the urbanites, whose immoral practices were opposed to those of the “clean” peasantry. Such discourses constructed urbanites and peasants as diff erent sorts of beings. A broadcast three days later commented on how, upon entering Phnom Penh, the revolutionary army was “taken aback” by the sight of “long-haired men and youngsters wearing bizarre clothes” such as “skin-tight pants with over-sized bell-bottoms” that stood in stark contrast to the traditional garb of Cambodians.

Such images of strangeness and diff erence were reinforced by assertions that the cities contained “American lackeys” and foreign imperialists. In fact, the cities were the locales in which more foreigners resided and they contained a dispro-portionately large number of ethnic minorities. One monograph, published in 1962, reported that Phnom Penh was 42 percent Khmer, 30 percent Chinese, and 27 percent Vietnamese.20 Such structural divisions resonated with the preconcep-tions of many peasants who viewed strangers with suspicion and oft en regarded cities as locales in which sinful deeds took place.

Ideologically, the Khmer Rouge also stigmatized the urbanites as capitalist oppressors who exploited the poor. Slogans and sayings like “Trees in the coun-try, fruit in the town” were used to infl ame the anger of the peasantry toward the urbanites. According to Soth Polin, this common Khmer Rouge saying was “cast in the form of an old saying and profi t[ed] from the good sense attributed to tra-ditional maxims.” He explained that this slogan “engenders jealousy among the peasants against the city-dwellers. Repeated a thousand times, it convinced the former that eliminating the latter was within their rights—better still, an impera-tive of their culture. Repeated a thousand times, this adage has ‘devised’ an inex-tinguishable hatred.”21

For many peasants, usurers, “those who have” (neak mean), or, less frequently, landlords were the familiar oppressors who could serve as a sort of experiential template for abstract Khmer Rouge pronouncements about “class oppressors”—even if their understandings did not always completely parallel the formal DK Party line, which underemphasized usury. Like usurers, who charged high rates of interest, the urbanites consumed the “fruits” of the peasants’ land and labor to support their comfortable and “immoral” lives. In all these ways, Khmer Rouge ideology helped manufacture urbanites into an “other” marked as corrupt and targeted for revenge.

Given the intensity of some peasant resentments and the centrality of class rage to Khmer Rouge ideology, it is not surprising that so much violence occurred aft er liberation. As the “anonymous cadre” suggests, by the end of a brutal civil war the “ignited class anger” was burning at full force and many Khmer Rouge soldiers and cadre were fi rmly tied in malice toward their enemy. In Battambang Province, for example, Khmer Rouge appeared “contemptuous and aloof” just aft er libera-tion and later reportedly admitted that they had been “fi red by ‘uncontrollable hatred’ for members of the ‘old society.’ ‘We were so angry when we came out of


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the forest,’ one speaker allegedly said, ‘that we didn’t want to spare even a baby in its cradle.’”22 Some of these cadre even ripped apart a Lon Nol military jet in the Battambang airport by hand.

As this incident suggests, Lon Nol soldiers, police, and government personnel were targets of revenge during the fi rst wave of DK killings. Th roughout Cambodia, the Khmer Rouge set out to identify and detain these members of the Lon Nol regime, particularly those who had held high rank. In his confession, Sreng, a high-ranking Northern Zone cadre, asserts that at this time the Party Center “put forward a policy of successively smashing offi cers, starting from the generals and working down through the lieutenants, as well as government investigative agents, policemen, military police personnel and reactionary civil servants,” an order that was later extended to include lower-ranking Lon Nol soldiers.23

Aft er taking Phnom Penh, Khmer Rouge radio ordered “all ministers and generals to come to the ministry of information at once to organize the country.”24 Dari, a villager who had fl ed to Phnom Penh where she lived across from the Ministry, noted that many of these people looked scared, despite Khmer Rouge assurances that they were to help in the reconstruction of the country. Many people thought that the top “supertraitors” of the Khmer Republic would be executed, but few suspected that the Khmer Rouge would execute the entire leadership of the former regime. Th is is exactly what happened. According to You Kim Lanh, a technician who reported to the Ministry, the Lon Nol offi cers and offi cials were asked to write their life histories and then taken to the Monorom Hotel, which was used as a detention center.25 For several days, You Kim Lanh said, hundreds of people continued to arrive at the hotel, most of whom were loaded into trucks at night and driven away. When You Kim Lanh asked a Khmer Rouge offi cer he knew what happened to these people, the cadre replied: “We kill them all because they’re traitors and deserve to be shot.”

As the cities were evacuated, the Khmer Rouge also appealed to high- and low-level soldiers and offi cials to identify themselves, suggesting that their skills would be of help in the reconstruction of the country or that they would receive an equivalent rank under the new regime. Urbanites being evacuated out of the cities were asked to give background information about their former occupa-tions. Many people who told the truth were taken away to be killed. Others who remained silent were recognized or discovered through investigations.

Up to two hundred thousand people—ranging from Lon Nol soldiers to civilians who made “mistakes”—may have perished during this fi rst wave of DK killing immediately aft er the regime took power.26 For many Khmer Rouge cadre, the Party Center’s call to “execute all leaders of the Lon Nol regime beginning with the top leaders”27 provided them with a warrant to take revenge upon the “oppressor enemy” against whom they were tied in malice for so many reasons.

Instead of ending the vengeance aft er this initial period of violence, the Khmer Rouge attempted to keep this class grudge infl amed. “Burning rage” remained a central part of revolutionary consciousness. Sometimes this connection was explicit, as in a July 1977 issue of Revolutionary Flags stating that, as one’s “stand-


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point” (kol chumhor) was “clarifi ed and sharpened,” one would be “pushed” to have a political consciousness (sâtiarâmma) that included:

1. A constantly burning rage (kamhoeng chap cheh) for the enemy.2. An extremely deep revolutionary sentiment toward the oppressed

classes.3. A strong spirit of love for the nation, revolution, collective, and party.28

Th ese three forms of consciousness constituted the “basis” of the “daily fi ghting spirit,” which would ideally make one “hot” (kdav) so that one would “stand on the base of anger toward the enemy.” And, ultimately, this revolutionary conscious-ness, including “anger for outside enemies, class enemies, and enemies burrowing from within,” would inspire one to “work hard to research, investigate, seek out, and clean up these enemies.”

More concretely, the DK regime attempted to generate this “constantly burn-ing rage” through frequent reminders of the “bad deeds” that the oppressor classes had done to the oppressed. On the local level, cadre were instructed to continue emphasizing oppression in their political propaganda. A regional deputy secretary stated that this meant encouraging the peasantry to remember that the city people “had an easy life” in contrast to their own suff ering, “were exploiters,” “shirked productive work,” and were “not pure and clean.”29 Khmer Rouge speeches, pub-lications, and radio broadcasts reinforced this message. Th us, a January 20, 1976, radio broadcast reminded its listeners of how the city people had caused them to suff er and feel humiliated:

Our brothers and sisters lived a most miserable life, enduring all manner of hardships, including shortages of food and clothing while under the most bar-baric, ferocious and fascist oppression of the imperialists, colonialists and their lackeys of all stripes, including their ringleader, Lon Nol. Th ey never had enough food, never were happy and never had an opportunity to receive [an education]. Our brothers and sisters were looked down upon, regarded as animals or as the most ignorant class in national society. Remembering all this, our brothers and sisters have a great hatred for the traitorous clique.30

Similarly, in a speech marking the fi rst anniversary of the revolution in April 1976, Minister of Information Hu Nim harped on the devastation infl icted upon the rural areas during the war by guns, napalm and other chemical agents, and bombs. Hu Nim’s speech is striking for its detailed and exaggerated statistics, including 400,000 peasants killed, more than 20,000 maimed or disabled, and 200,000 injured; 80 percent of Cambodia’s factories destroyed; and 80 percent of the fi elds and almost all the homes close to battlefi elds ravaged.31 On the same occasion, Khieu Samphan proclaimed: “Nothing can erase or make us forget . . . [this] dark past.”32

Such discourse was incorporated into Khmer Rouge song and dance. To help keep the class grudge infl amed, for example, Khmer Rouge dances, per-formed at meetings, frequently involved harsh, militaristic demeanor and violent imagery. Sometimes the theme of subaltern revenge was quite explicit. Haing Ngor recalled how, at the end of a propaganda dance, costumed cadre—some of


95

whom wore red headbands and red krama sashes around their waists—formed a line and then began shouting

“blood avenges blood!” at the top of their lungs. Both times when they said the word “blood” they pounded their chests with clenched fi sts, and when they shouted “avenges” they brought their arms straight out like a Nazi salute, except with a closed fi st instead of an open hand.

“blood avenges blood! blood avenges blood! blood avenges blood!” the cadre repeated with fi erce determined faces, thumping their fi sts on their hearts and raising their fi sts. Th ey shouted other revolutionary slogans and gave the salutes and fi nally ended with “Long Live the Cambodian revolution!”

It was a dramatic performance and it left us scared. In our language, “blood” has its ordinary meaning, the red liquid in the body, and another mean-ing of kinship or family. Blood avenges blood. You kill us, we kill you. We “new” people had been on the other side of the Khmer Rouge in the civil war. Soldiers of the Lon Nol regime with the help of American weapons and planes had killed many tens of thousands of Khmer Rouge in battle. Symbolically, the Khmer Rouge had just announced that they were going to take revenge.33

Besides the overt call for vengeance, this dance embodies various movements signifying “burning rage”—loud shouts associated with anger; fi erce faces show-ing that one was dach chett (resolute); clenched fi sts indexing the “knot” of mal-ice; chests pounds (with the clenched fi sts) evoking the image of a person who is “seized with painful anger.”

Blood imagery was also central to this dance. In fact, the color of blood was a prominent theme in Khmer Rouge propaganda, providing a metaphoric call for revenge. Th e DK national anthem contained numerous references to spilled blood, which provided a reason for people to maintain their “unrelenting hatred.” In a September 27, 1977, speech, Pol Pot explained that a “blood call has been incorporated into our national anthem. Each sentence, each word shows the nature of our people’s struggle. Th is blood has been turned into class and national indignation.”34 Similarly, the Khmer Rouge fl ag was red and glorifi ed by “Th e Red Flag” song, oft en sung in unison before meetings:

The Red FlagGlittering red blood blankets the earth—Blood given up to liberate the people:Blood of workers, peasants, and intellectuals;Blood of young men, Buddhist monks, and girls.Th e blood swirls away, and fl ows upward, gently, into the sky,Turning into a red, revolutionary fl ag.

Red fl ag! Red fl ag! Flying now! Flying now!O beloved friends, pursue, strike and hit the enemy.Red fl ag! red fl ag! Flying now! Flying now!Don’t leave a single reactionary imperialist (alive)Seething with anger, let us wipe out all enemies of Kampuchea.Let us strike and take victory! Victory! Victory!35


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Like the national anthem, “Th e Red Flag” song, with its analogy between blood sacrifi ce and the color red and its encouragement to “seethe with anger” and “strike and hit the enemy,” urged cadre to maintain their class grudge until not “a single reactionary imperialist” was left alive.

Th e invocation of blood imbues such songs with powerful ontological reso-nance. On the one hand, blood is central to health. In Khmer ethnophysiology, the proper fl ow of blood leads to a balanced state of well-being. Th e disruption of this fl ow signifi es social and somatic disequilibrium, oft en diagnosed as mal-adies of excess heat or cold. Anger, in turn, is conceptualized as having heating properties and may make the blood “burn.”36 More concretely, the loss of blood signifi es injury and a threat to one’s well-being, possibly even the loss of one’s life. Blood is also a powerful, embodied symbol of violence, which oft en results in bloody injury or death.

Th rough such frequent invocations of spilled blood, then, Khmer Rouge songs and other ideological discourses and symbols condense a number of pow-erful themes: existential threat, bodily and social disequilibrium, anger and rage, sorrow and loss, and violence against the enemy. Moreover, as Haing Ngor notes, blood is also a kinship idiom signifying similarity and diff erence. By focusing on the spilled blood of beloved comrades, Khmer Rouge ideology implied there was a kinship-like bond between the revolutionaries (Angkar being the “parent”) that was opposed to their enemy “others”—the oppressor classes. Blood imagery thereby also helps to manufacture diff erence, providing a symbolic manifesta-tion of more explicit us/them discourses. In the context of the dances and songs, the blood imagery implies that “something bad” has been done to one, a senti-ment that leads to imbalance and makes one become hot and “seized with painful anger.” Th e ensuing knot of malice, in turn, generates hatred and a desire for ven-geance or, as the Khmer Rouge dancers cried out, for blood to avenge blood. Th e threat of revenge was clear to Haing Ngor, leaving him, and many other members of the “oppressor enemy” who listened to the performance, terrifi ed.

While such ideological messages clearly had a diff erent “take” among dif-ferent segments of the population, they were eff ective in motivating many cadre, particularly poor and uneducated cadre like Boan, the village chief at Trâpeang Trah, to seek revenge against their class enemies. As Vong, who resided at Trâpeang Trah during DK, noted, “At fi rst Boan was like us. Aft er they had brainwashed him, however, his heart and thoughts changed. He became angry at the people, particularly the rich and soldiers. Boan was an ignorant person and couldn’t write much . . . but he loved Ângkar and would report on people who were then killed.” Similarly, the relatives of the “anonymous cadre” were likely infl uenced by such discourses as they took “revenge with people from Phnom Penh” because of their anger over the loss of loved ones and the B-52 bombings: “Th ey just waited for people from Phnom Penh: if they had a chance to kill, they would kill.” (His assertion that such revenge killings were not driven by an “offi cial order [from the top],” however, is problematic given the DK lead-ership’s explicit policy of annihilating “hidden enemies” and ideological call for vengeance.) Haing Ngor once made a pun to some other “new people” in his work group that such Khmer Rouge cadre were not “communist” (kommuyonis)


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but “revenge people,” or kum monuss: “‘Th at’s what they are at the lower level,’ I said, ‘revenge people.’ ‘All they know is that city people like us used to lord it over them and this is their chance to get back. Th at’s what they are, communist at top and kum-monuss at the bottom.’”37

Long work hours, starvation rations, a lack of freedom, miserable living conditions, and constant terror soon erased the humanity of “new people.” As Someth May recalled, “We were hungry, too tired to wash or clean our clothes, and we lost all sense of hygiene. We didn’t care what we ate as long as we could put something in our stomachs. We didn’t mind where we had a shit, or who saw us. Disease spread through the village—cholera, malaria, dysentery, diarrhoea and skin infections.”38 Such conditions oft en reduced a person into an animal-like state of being. Like water buff alo, “new people” were sometimes even required to pull a plow or cart and might be whipped if they failed to work hard enough.39 A soldier told one “new person” that it would be better for her sick mother to die “than [it would be for] a cow. Th e cows are good. Th ey help us a lot and do not eat rice. Th ey are much better than you pigs.”40 Since “new people” were less than fully human, there were fewer moral inhibitions in harming them. A “new person” who did something wrong could therefore be “discarded” (veay chal)—a euphemism for execution—without much of a qualm, an attitude captured by the chilling Khmer Rouge threat, “To keep you is no gain; to destroy you is no loss” (tuk min chomnenh yok chenh min khat).

Th is dehumanization, combined with Khmer Rouge ideology that fomented malice against the oppressor classes and glorifi ed revolutionary violence, were key factors that contributed to the revenge killings that continued to take place long aft er the fi rst wave of DK executions had ended. Having annihilated most of the Lon Nol government’s leadership, the Khmer Rouge began to seek out and kill off other “class enemies,” such as rich “capitalists,” intellectuals, professionals, and lower-ranking Lon Nol soldiers, police, and government employees. By the end of March 1976, the Party Center had made the decision to authorize the use of violence to “smash” people “inside and outside” the revolutionary ranks,41 ini-tiating a second wave of violence that peaked in 1977 in most areas but continued to ebb and fl ow until the end of DK. Th roughout Cambodia, orders were passed down the Khmer Rouge civilian and military chain of command instructing local cadre to research the backgrounds of the people under their control and fi nd the “hidden enemies burrowing from within.”42

Entire Cambodian family lines were destroyed during DK. In some cases, the Khmer Rouge would simply load families of “new people” into trucks and take them to execution centers. Th e Khmer Rouge adopted a Maoist saying that encouraged such slaughter: “To dig up grass, one must also dig up the roots” (chik smav trauv chik teang reus).43 Echoing the explanation of many others, a former DK village chief told me that this phrase meant that cadre were supposed to “dig up the entire family line. Not just the [nuclear family] of husband, wife, and chil-dren, but the entire line of descent, the entire clan, from the grandparents on, to take the entire string at once.” He confi rmed that he was ordered to research the background of the people living in his village and that, at meetings, Rom, a Khmer Rouge offi cial, spoke of a plan to seek out “soldiers, the rich, and government


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workers and to kill all of them and their families.” Th e village chief explained that this was done so that “none would be left to take revenge on a later day.”

Much of the killing that occurred during DK was motivated by a Khmer Rouge ideological model that drew heavily upon preexisting notions of dispropor-tionate revenge. Many of the poor were angry at the rich and powerful “oppres-sors” who looked down upon them, exploited them, and made them suff er. Th e Khmer Rouge used this ideology to infl ame the feeling of resentment even further, trying to make its followers “burn with rage” and be “seized with painful anger” (chheu chap), feelings that would motivate them to seek revenge and destroy their class enemies. As Khieu Samphan’s brother explained in an interview with me: “Th e destruction of the Cambodian people can be understood in terms of the resentment (chheu chap) of the destitute (neak ât) who suff ered and were looked down upon. . . . Th eir resentment became a grudge that was repaid (sâng) when they had power. . . . Th ey repaid [this debt] by killing people in return.”

As illustrated by the revenge killings that took place at the end of DK, the Khmer Rouge were not completely successful in preventing retaliation. Th us, while some cadre fl ed before the Vietnamese invasion, others like Phat—a woman known for her brutality—were not able to escape. Aft er hiding in the jungle for a few days, Phat tried to sneak into a village to steal food one night and was shot and wounded. A crowd soon gathered and beat Phat to death. One villager whose husband had been killed by Phat told me, “More and more people kept coming, including grandfathers and grandchildren. Th ey really hated her because she had killed so many people. I hit her two times, too. I hated her because she had killed my husband. We wanted revenge.” Many Cambodians witnessed the post-DK revenge killing of former Khmer Rouge cadre. In this way the cycle of revenge was perpetuated.

As the chairman of the Cambodian Military Court suggested in one of the epigraphs with which this essay began, local understandings of revenge have continued to be invoked in relationship to the Khmer Rouge, but they have also shift ed with the currents of history. Just aft er DK, the People’s Republic of Kampuchea pursued a two-pronged strategy with regard to the Khmer Rouge, stating that former Khmer Rouge might be imprisoned briefl y, but ultimately should be accepted back into society. Anyone who sought vengeance against these individuals would be arrested. On the other hand, the PRK regime based its legitimacy on having “liberated” the country from the Khmer Rouge and attempted to keep popular anger toward the “Pol Pot—Ieng Sary clique,” which had fl ed to the Th ai border and was now fi ghting the PRK regime, infl amed through education, commemorations, a trial, memorials, holidays, literature, fi lm, and other media that dramatically foregrounded this deviant “clique’s” campaign of mass murder.44 Implicitly, the PRK regime encouraged the popu-lace to remain “tied in anger” toward the “Pol Pot—Ieng Sary clique” and take vengeance by fi ghting these evil enemies.


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Aft er the 1993 UN election, the genocidal past was again rewritten as the new Cambodian government attempted to entice the Khmer Rouge to defect and, in the name of reconciliation, deemphasized the Khmer Rouge atrocities. In the domain of education, for example, virtually all mention of DK was removed from textbooks that had previously foregrounded them intensively.45 When, in late 1998, former Khmer Rouge leaders Nuon Chea and Khieu Samphan defected to the government, Prime Minister Hun Sen announced, “We should dig a hole and bury the past.”46 Khieu Samphan himself urged people “to forget the past so our nation can concentrate on the future. Let bygones be bygones.”47 While some Cambodians still spoke of the desire for revenge, others might invoke the need for reconciliation or Buddhist forgetting during this period.

Even as the Cambodian government advocated reconciliation, the United States and other Western powers—that had barely acknowledged the Cambodian genocide while the PRK regime, which was aligned with the Soviet bloc and thus a Cold War enemy of the West, was in power—suddenly began advocating for an international tribunal. Th e chairman of the Cambodian Military Court’s remarks about possibly prosecuting former high-ranking Khmer Rouge offi cials were made in the context of this shift toward consideration of a Khmer Rouge tribunal. It was not until 2006 that the Khmer Rouge tribunal fi nally got off the ground. Even now, while most Cambodians generally appear to favor the trial of a hand-ful of former Khmer Rouge leaders, some continue to talk of revenge, or even to view the tribunal itself as a form of vengeance against these former enemies. It remains to be seen whether these perceptions will shift as the trials proceed, the past is reworked yet again, and ordinary people seek to make sense of it all.

Notes 1. Sainsbury and Sotheacheath, “Good Intentions Paved Road to Mass Murder.” 2. See Chandler, Th e Tragedy of Cambodian History; Hinton, Why Did Th ey Kill?;

and Kiernan, Th e Pol Pot Regime. 3. Of course, alternative models of more disproportionate revenge also exist in the

Judeo-Christian tradition, as a reading of the Old Testament or Greek tragedy illustrates. 4. Scott, Seeing Like a State. 5. See Chandler, Th e Tragedy of Cambodian History; Chandler, Facing the Cambod-

ian Past. 6. Pol Pot, “Long Live the 17th Anniversary of the Communist Party of Kampu-

chea,” 28. 7. Reproduced in Kiernan, How Pol Pot Came to Power, 231–32. 8. Carney, “Th e Communist Party of Kampuchea and the Problem of Khmer

Young Men and Women,” 30. 9. Ibid., 32.10. Ith Sarin, quoted in ibid., 39.11. Ith Sarin, Srânah Proleung Khmaer, 68; Carney, Communist Party Power, 52.12.Ith Sarin, Srânah Proleung Khmaer, 63; see also Carney, Communist Party Power, 51.13. Ith Sarin, Srânah Proleung Khmaer.


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14. Carney, Communist Party Power, 31.15. Cited in Kiernan, Th e Pol Pot Regime, 422.16. May Mayko Ebihara, “Kin Terminology and the Idiom of Kinship in Cambodia/

Kampuchea,” 186, 348, 579.17. Ebihara, “Kin Terminology,” 584.18. Ibid., 562.19. Ibid., 569.20. Tooze, Cambodia: Th e Land of Contrasts, 90. See also Kiernan, Th e Pol Pot

Regime, 5.21. Soth Polin, “Pol Pot’s Diabolical Sweetness,” 43–45.22. Chandler, Kiernan, and Lim, Th e Early Phases of Liberation in Northwestern

Cam bodia, 2, 9.23. CMR 12.25, quoted in Heder and Tittemore, Seven Candidates for Prosecution, 31.24. Ponchaud, Cambodia: Year Zero, 29. On the round-up and execution of the Khmer

Rouge leadership in Phnom Penh, see also Becker, When the War Was Over, 192–93; Pin Yathay, Stay Alive, My Son, 16.

25. Ponchaud, Cambodia: Year Zero, p. 28.26. Th ion, Watching Cambodia, 166.27. One of eight key components of the Party Center’s plan that was allegedly

discussed by Pol Pot at a conference on May 20, 1975 (Kiernan, Th e Pol Pot Regime, 55).28. Revolutionary Flags (Khmer Rouge magazine), 1977, 21–22. See also Foreign Broad-

cast Information Service (microfi lm of government broadcast, hereaft er FBIS), April 14, 1978, H5.

29. Kiernan, interview with Ouch Bun Chhoeun, in Th e Pol Pot Regime, 62.30. FBIS, January 20, 1976, H1; see the same source on how oppression “fi red the

anger of our poor brothers and sisters.” On the Khmer Rouge construction of the urban/rural divide, see McIntyre, “Geography as Destiny,” 30–58.

31. FBIS, March 31, 1976, H2–3; FBIS, April 16, 1976, H8.32. FBIS, January 16, 1976, H3.33. Ngor, A Cambodian Odyssey, 140. On Khmer Rouge song and dance, see Locard,

“Khmer Rouge Revolutionary Songs and the Cambodian Culture Tradition,” 308–48.34. FBIS, October 4, 1977, H25.35. Th is translation by Chandler is from Chandler, Kiernan, and Lim, Th e Early

Phases of Liberation, 14, and Locard, “Khmer Rouge Revolutionary Songs,” 324–26.36. Gosananda, Step by Step.37. Ngor, A Cambodian Odyssey, 159.38. May, Cambodian Witness: Th e Autobiography of Someth May, 165.39. See Ngor, A Cambodian Odyssey, 165f.; Stuart-Fox, Th e Murderous Revolution,

60; Szymusiak, Th e Stones Cry Out, 147.40. Moyer, Escape from the Killing Fields, 123.41. “Decisions of the Central Committee on a Variety of Questions,” in Chandler,

Kiernan, and Boua, Pol Pot Plans the Future, 3.42. See Heder and Tittemore, Seven Candidates for Prosecution, 42f.43. See Locard, Le “Petit livre rouge” de Pol Pot ou les paroles de l’Angkar, 55.44. See Hinton, “Truth, Representation and the Politics of Memory aft er Genocide,”

62 81.45. Ibid.46. “Khmer Rouge Leaders Arrive in Phnom Penh, Won’t Be Tried.”47. “Apology from Two ‘Killing Fields’ Leaders.”


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Works Cited“Apology from Two ‘Killing Fields’ Leaders.” CNN.com. December 29, 1998. http://www

.cnn.com/WORLD/asiapcf/9812/29/cambodia.02/index.html.Becker, Elizabeth. When the War Was Over: Cambodia and the Khmer Rouge Revolution.

New York: Public Aff airs, 1998.Carney, Timothy. “Th e Communist Party of Kampuchea and the Problem of Khmer

Young Men and Women.” In Timothy Carney, Communist Party Power in Kampuchea (Cambodia): Documents and Discussion. Ithaca: Cornell University Southeast Asia Program, 1977.

Chandler, David P. Facing the Cambodian Past: Selected Essays, 1971–1994. Chiang Mai, Th ailand: Silkworm Books, 1996.

. Th e Tragedy of Cambodian History: Politics, War and Revolution since 1945. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991.

Chandler, David P., Ben Kiernan, and Chanthou Boua, eds. Pol Pot Plans the Future: Con-fi dential Leadership Documents from Democratic Kampuchea, 1976–1977. Monograph Series 33. New Haven: Yale University Southeast Asia Studies, 1988.

Chandler, David P., Ben Kiernan, and Muy Hong Lim. Th e Early Phases of Liberation in Northwestern Cambodia: Conversations with Peang Sophi. Melbourne: Monash Univer-sity Centre of Southeast Asian Studies Working Papers, 1976.

“Duch and Ta Mok Face Charges Under ‘Anti-KR’ Law.” Phnom Penh Post. May 1999.Ebihara, May Mayko. “Kin Terminology and the Idiom of Kinship in Cambodia/

Kampu chea.” Paper presented at the SSRC/Indochina studies Program Workshop on Kinship and Gender in Indochina, University of Northern Illinois, July 26–27, 1986.

Gosananda, Maha. Step by Step: Meditations on Wisdom and Compassion. Berkeley, Calif.: Parallax Press, 1992.

Heder, Steve, and Brian D. Tittemore. Seven Candidates for Prosecution: Accountability for the Crimes of the Khmer Rouge. Washington, D.C.: War Crimes Research Offi ce, American University, 2001.

Hinton, Alexander. “Truth, Representation and the Politics of Memory aft er Genocide.” In People of Virtue: Reconfi guring Religion, Power and Morality in Cambodia Today, ed. Alexandra Kent and David Chandler. Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2008, 62–81.

Ith Sarin. Srânah Proleung Khmaer [Regrets for the Khmer Soul]. Phnom Penh, 1973.Jackson, Karl D., ed. Cambodia, 1975–1978: Rendezvous with Death. Princeton: Princeton

University Press, 1989.“Khmer Rouge Leaders Arrive in Phnom Penh, Won’t Be Tried.” CNN.com, December

29, 1998. http://www.cnn.com/WORLD/asiapcf/9812/29/cambodia.01/index.html.Kiernan, Ben. How Pol Pot Came to Power: A History of Communism in Kampuchea,

1930–1975. London: Verso, 1985. . Th e Pol Pot Regime: Race, Power, and Genocide in Cambodia under the Khmer

Rouge, 1975–79. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996.Locard, Henri. “Khmer Rouge Revolutionary Songs and the Cambodian Culture Tradition,

or, Th e Revolution Triumphant.” In Khmer Studies, vol. 1, ed. Sorn Samnang. Phnom Penh: Ministry of Education, Youth, and Sports, 1998, pp. 308–48.

. Le “Petit livre rouge” de Pol Pot ou les paroles de l’Angkar. Paris: Harmattan, 1996.McIntyre, Kevin. “Geography as Destiny: Cities, Villages and Khmer Rouge Orientalism.”

Comparative Studies of Society and History 38, no. 4 (1996): 30–58.Moyer, Nancy. Escape from the Killing Fields: One Girl Who Survived the Cambodian

Holocaust. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1991.


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Ngor, Haing. A Cambodian Odyssey. New York: Warner Books, 1987.Pin Yathay. Stay Alive, My Son. New York: Touchstone, 1987.Pol Pot. “Long Live the 17th Anniversary of the Communist Party of Kampuchea.” Phnom

Penh: Ministry of Foreign Aff airs, 1977.Ponchaud, François. Cambodia: Year Zero. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1978.Sainsbury, Peter, and Chea Sotheacheath. “Good Intentions Paved Road to Mass Murder.”

Phnom Penh Post, April 2000.Scott, James C. Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition

Have Failed. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998.Someth May. Cambodian Witness: Th e Autobiography of Someth May. New York: Random

House, 1986.Soth Polin. “Pol Pot’s Diabolical Sweetness.” Index on Censorship 5 (1980): 43–45.Stuart-Fox, Martin. Th e Murderous Revolution: Life and Death in Pol Pot’s Kampuchea

Based on the Personal Experiences of Bunbeang Ung. Chippendale, Australia: Alter-native Publishing Cooperative, 1985.

Szymusiak, Molyda. Th e Stones Cry Out: A Cambodian Childhood, 1975–1980. Trans. Linda Coverdale. New York: Hill and Wang, 1986.

Th ion, Serge. Watching Cambodia: Ten Paths to Enter the Cambodian Tangle. Bangkok: White Lotus, 1993.

Tooze, Ruth. Cambodia: Th e Land of Contrasts. New York: Viking, 1962.


103

From Jasenovac to SrebrenicaSubaltern Genocide and the Serbs

DAVID B. MACDONALD

In cases of subaltern genocide, oppressed and victimized groups employ genocidal strategies against their oppressors. What, though, of instances where a group’s victimization and its adoption of genocidal strategies are

separated by decades or even centuries? What happens when the targets of those genocidal strategies share no meaningful connection to the perpetrators of past acts of victimization? And what happens in situations where subaltern identifi cations become national myths, fueling a sense of vulnerability, humil-iation, and fear that in turn helps to foment genocidal wars of aggression “in self-defense”? To what extent are such cases reasonably considered within a framing of “subaltern genocide,” and how do they serve to amplify and deepen the concept?

Th e case of Yugoslavia/Serbia in the twentieth and twenty-fi rst centuries off ers one of the most striking instances of a genocidal campaign fueled by past victimization experiences and the subaltern identifi cations they spawned. It shows as well how such identifi cations may be marshaled and nurtured by unscrupu-lous political leaders, to strengthen their legitimacy and justify aggressive war and genocide. From 1941 to 1945, part of the Croatian/Bosnian Serb population was targeted with extermination by the Croatian Ustasha fascist regime, which the Nazis had installed as puppets following their invasion of Yugoslavia in June 1941. Th e Ustasha established a network of concentration camps designed expressly to exterminate its ethnic enemies. In 1995, during the wars in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Bosnian Muslim men and boys in the city of Srebrenica were subjected to what the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) has called genocide at the hands of Bosnian Serb forces under the control of General Ratko Mladic. In August 2001, Bosnian Serb General Radislav Krstic was found guilty of genocide by the ICTY for the killing of some 8,000 men and boys at Srebrenica in 1995.1 Th is has been rightly described as “the largest single war crime in Europe since the Second World War.”2

If we accept that groups may commit or support violent acts against other groups when motivated by fear or threat, then the more real the threat appears, the

104

more likely a group is to be motivated to commit abhorrent acts in “self-defense,” launching “preemptive” strikes allegedly to avoid impending attack. However, fear and trauma are oft en misplaced and redirected. As such, while Croats were the aggressors in the 1940s and Serbs the victims, Muslims, not Croats, were Serbs’ primary targets of the 1990s. Th e problem of using past victimization to understand present crimes is that we may develop a tendency to “understand” them, which can lead to excusing such actions as somehow inevitable. But there was nothing inevitable about the Bosnian genocide, or the wider war in Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, and Kosovo. At best, we can say that many Serbs, due to past victimization and trauma, had a psychological predisposition to a subaltern iden-tifi cation, and to fear for their personal safety during periods of social or political uncertainty; they were thus more easily swayed by nationalist rhetoric than per-haps the average Czech or Belgian would be. Th is, however, can in no way justify or excuse the horrendous crimes that some Serbs committed, and that many Serbs at least tacitly supported, in the 1990s.

Th is chapter is divided into three parts. I begin by examining the longevity of the eff ects of group trauma and victimization, and their potential impact on the nation, both as a psychological problem for the group and a rhetorical arsenal for nationalists. I then discuss the World War II genocide, before turning to the second, more contemporary outbreak of genocide in Bosnia-Herzegovina at the city of Srebrenica. Of equal interest is how Serbian history has been manipulated and instrumentalized in the political sphere, the subject of the fi nal part of the chapter. I end on a cautionary note. While the Srebrenica events were gruesome, the verdict of genocide passed by the ICTY has had a negative eff ect on Serbs in terms of their historical memory, and their likelihood of owning up to the crime. Th is is because the verdict has redefi ned the nature of a victim group (now local-ized to a city) and has thus signifi cantly reduced the “in part” criteria of the 1948 UN Genocide Convention. As a more general observation, Serbian nationalists have serious “memory problems” with regard to the 1990s. Coupled with a high degree of willful ignorance, this precludes a serious reckoning with the horrors of the recent past.

Thinking Like a Victim: The Serbian Case

Jones and Robins signal that “genocidal assaults that contain a morally plausible element of revenge, retribution, or revolutionary usurpation are less likely to be condemned, and are oft en welcomed.”3 In the Serbian case, subaltern identifi ca-tions and past victimization experiences were invoked time and again to justify the renewal of Serbian nationalism in the 1980s and the expansion of Serbia’s bor-ders beyond the republic, to include parts of Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina. A “Jewish trope” also developed during this time. As Zivkovic paraphrased the emergent Serbian view: “Both Serbs and Jews are the ‘chosen peoples’—slaugh-tered, sacrifi ced, denied expression, yet always righteous, always defending them-selves, never attacking.”4

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From the Battle of Kosovo in 1389, which subjected Serbs to fi ve centuries of Ottoman rule, to severe losses in the world wars, Serbs have felt themselves (to some extent correctly) to be victims of their neighbors—even if the identities of their aggressors have changed over time. Several Serbian writers have character-ized their nation as one that is continually alert to the threat of war and destruction, while similarly pervaded by a sense of victimhood. Popov, for example, describes war as a “way of life”: “not just a myth, [but] a legend and an epic.” Historically, the nation prided itself on being constantly prepared for war, with the warrior’s voca-tion held in especially high regard. In this narrative, Popov reveals, “peace merely appears as a deceptive break between clashes and fi erce battles.”5

Instrumentally, Bosnian Serb psychiatrist Dusan Kecmanovic has argued that myths of victimhood were vital in cementing political power in a context of civil strife and breakdown. “Being a victim means having the moral and mate-rial right to reprisal,” as “everyone seems to expect the victim to settle accounts sooner or later, to return tit for tat, and to punish those who have made them a victim.” Victimhood thus gives one a special status—”a moral and psychological advantage.”6 It becomes a means of legitimating any strategy deemed necessary to “protect” the self against injury and injustice, at present or in the future. Since the victim is deemed “not responsible for his or her unfortunate fate,” no soul-searching is required as to “whether and how much he or she might have contrib-uted to this quite unenviable position.”7

Serbian Trauma?

For groups which have suff ered from genocide or other collective tragedy, a heightened sense of fear and trauma may be transmitted intergenerationally. In its most basic sense, trauma can be defi ned as “an event in the subject’s life defi ned by its intensity, by the subject’s incapacity to respond adequately to it, and by the upheaval and long-lasting eff ects that it brings about in the psychical orga-nization.”8 Some eff ects of trauma include “disassociation,” where salient chunks of information about the traumatic event may be confused or even forgotten. “Emotional numbing” is also common, as is “interpersonal vigilance,” which can lead to violence, injury, and even death. “Suicide thinking and risk-taking behav-ior” can result from the trauma as a suff erer enters into a self-destructive spiral.9

If individuals can suff er from trauma, so too can groups. Parents eff ectively externalize their trauma by passing it on to their children. Th e child becomes “a reservoir for the unwanted, troublesome parts of an older generation.” It is then the child’s designated responsibility to absorb their parents’ expectations and frustrations; eventually the child is obliged to “mourn, to reverse the humiliation and feelings of helplessness pertaining to the trauma of his forebears.”10

For many Serbs, chief among the past’s traumatic events was their attempted genocide at the hands of the Croatian Ustasha. Bogosavljevic has called these crimes “the unresolved genocide,” tying past and lingering traumas to the anger and frustration of the 1980s and the violence of the 1990s. It is no surprise,

From Jasenovac to Srebrenica

106

then, that “retaliation for what had been done earlier, and the fear of a renewal of genocide (irrespective of whether this fear was justifi ed or not), were, at the same time, if not the moving force behind the war, then certainly an important element in motivating the masses.”11 Others, too, have seen the genocide begin-ning in 1941 as an “important contributory factor” in the uprising of Serbs in Croatia. Mirkovic depicts a mixture of three elements as laying the foundation for the convulsions of the 1990s:

(1) Collective trauma rooted in [the] genocidal experience of a victimized group and expressed as fear and threat resulting from disorientation following the disintegration of the state. (2) Th e politics of memory through [the] so-called “media war” in the 1980s aimed at fanning fear and hatred. (3) Revival of ultra-nationalist ideologies of [the] Ustashism and Chetnikism, respectively [in Croatia and Serbia], as genocidal ideologies.12

It should be noted that Mirkovic was dealing with Croatian Serb fears in the 1990s, and had little to say about the Bosnian confl ict. In the Croatian case, moreover, he was critical of what he saw as the “manipulation of consciousness through mass media in order to revive the memories of genocide of 50 years ago, with the specifi c purpose of enhancing confl ict and justifying the use of force.”13 One should add that, psychologically speaking, there is no axiomatic link between suff ering from past traumas and violence committed against others. Fear and resentment may to some extent predispose individuals from a designated victim group to engage in future atrocities, but this is by no means inevitable.

Genocide in World War II

On April 5, 1941, Yugoslavia was invaded by Italian and German forces and split into diff erent spheres of infl uence. In Serbia, General Milan Nedic formed a quis-ling “Government of National Salvation.” Th e regime was unpopular, and Serbs divided their loyalty between the fl edgling communist Partisans (whose ranks Croats also joined) and the Serbian Chetniks under General Draza Mihailovic. Th ese were paramilitary bands loyal to the Yugoslav government-in-exile, which was allied with the Western powers. Much of Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina was given over to the Croatian fascist Ustasha-controlled “Independent State of Croatia” (or NDH) under the leadership of Ante Pavelic.

Some Croat writers have downplayed Ustasha crimes, but the scale of these atrocities was immense. Large numbers of Serbs, Jews, Gypsies, communists, and Croatians hostile to the regime were interned in concentration camps, while countless others were massacred in towns and villages. Th e Ustasha were directly involved in the administration and in the orchestration of the killings. In addi-tion, some 200,000 Serbs were forcibly converted to Catholicism.14 According to the Ustasha blueprint, one-third of Serbs were to be killed, another third expelled, and a fi nal third converted to Catholicism.15

Th e Ustasha founded a series of concentration/death camps, from smaller ones at Dakovo, Lepoglava, Lobor, and Sisak, to Jasenovac, the largest and best

David B. MacD onald

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known. Jasenovac was a complex of fi ve camps, which operated from August 1941 to April 1945. Staff ed by Croatian political police and Ustasha militiamen, conditions for prisoners were atrocious, causing the deaths of tens of thousands of Serbs and some 20,000 Jews.16 At Jasenovac, Dedijer reveals a variety of kill-ing methods including revolvers, carbines, machine guns, bombs, knives, axes, hatchets, wooden hammers, iron bars, iron hammers, hoes, trampling, belts and leather whips, hanging, burning, cremation, scorching of sensitive body parts, freezing, poison gas, suff ocating, starvation, and disease.17

Serbs themselves by no means had clean hands during the war. Th e Chetnik royalist forces perpetrated massacres of Croatian and Bosnian Moslem popu-lations in Bosnia-Herzegovina, making them as hated there as the Ustasha. Chetnik reluctance to engage the Germans for fear of reprisals, and their violent confl icts with communist forces, eventually lost them Allied favor.18 While the wartime records of some Serbs and Croats were dubious, there were nevertheless qualitative diff erences between the Allied-backed Chetnik monarchists and their small-scale massacres, and the Nazi-backed Ustasha with their concentration camps-cum-death camps. While there is indisputable evidence of Chetnik mas-sacres of Croats and Moslems, there is no concrete proof that the Chetniks aimed to exterminate the entire Croatian nation. Th e only letter to this eff ect, describing a plan to create an “ethnically pure Greater Serbia,” was a forgery.19 However, it seems clear that the Ustasha aimed to exterminate at least a part of the Serbian nation, and the legal defi nition of genocide emphasizes destruction “in whole or in part” of a target group. How large a part must be targeted for the label of geno-cide to apply? In his recent book, Jones argues in favor of a “substantial part” of the group, perhaps numbering in the tens or hundreds of thousands.20 Certainly the Serbian case fi ts this requirement, though the cited range of total deaths is rather wide, from 100,000 to 750,000.21

Th e tide turned against Germany and its Ustasha supporters in 1943 with the surrender of Italy. By the end of 1943, the Partisans under Josip Broz (Tito) had gained Allied support and were able to infl ict signifi cant damage on German and Ustasha targets. By 1944, they had liberated the country, and by May 1945 Tito and the Communist Party of Yugoslavia had laid the basis for a new federal state designed to foster “brotherhood and unity.”22

Prelude to the Bosnian War

Th e rise of nationalism in the former Yugoslavia is by now extremely well docu-mented. For most of the lifetime of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY), Serbian nationalism was subordinate to communism and did not become an important factor until Tito’s death in 1980. Th e power vacuum at the federal center would be fi lled by aspiring nationalists at the republic level, beginning in Kosovo with movements for Albanian secession in 1981.23

In reaction to Albanian nationalist demands, the Serbian Academy of Sci-ences and Arts (SANU) drew up its famous Memorandum in 1986—a list of


108

Serbian grievances against their treatment within the Federation. SANU decried the “genocide” of Serbs in Kosovo—the fi rst time the term had been deployed in reference to contemporary events or perceived threats within the federation, and an explosive usage indeed. More generally, it articulated a need for Serbs throughout Yugoslavia to assert themselves as a collectivity. Th e Memorandum’s architects played a prominent role in spurring Serbian nationalism. Slobodan Milosevic rose to power in 1987 by appealing to an emerging sense of Serbian unity, and claimed to speak for Serbs throughout Yugoslavia.24

In Croatia, the former general and historian Franjo Tudjman emerged as head of the Croatian Democratic Movement (HDZ). By 1990, this had become the pri-mary nationalist force in the republic, winning the elections in April of that year.25 Tudjman’s party, while appearing western and progressive, soon began discriminat-ing against the republic’s Serbian population.26 Largely funded by Croatians in the diaspora, the HDZ was anti-communist and unsympathetic to Serbian demands. Th e 1990 constitution conspicuously omitted Serbs as a constituent nation; on a practical level, jobs, property rights, and even residence status depended on having Croatian citizenship, which was not automatically granted to non-Croats.27 In this context, renewed fears arose of a Croatian-led genocide against Serbs.

War in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina

In 1990, Tudjman tried to pull Croatia out of the SFRY, precipitating a Serbian invasion of Croatian territory. In 1990, with Serbia’s backing, Serbs in the Krajina region declared a “state of war” against the Croatian state. Open fi ghting broke out in April, and a referendum on Serbian independence resulted in a call for Serbian secession. Between February and June 1991, rebellion escalated. Serbian paramilitary units such as Arkan’s “Tigers” and Vojislav Seselj’s “White Eagles” arrived in Croatia, trained and funded by the Serbian Ministry of the Interior. Th e situation grew more dramatic when Yugoslav People’s Army forces inter-vened under the pretext of protecting Serbian minority rights.28 By September 1991, Serbian forces had leveled Vukovar and other eastern towns, and controlled almost one-third of Croatian territory. By October, they had pushed south to Dubrovnik, which they shelled with abandon.29

By January 1992, a ceasefi re was agreed. UN troops created a series of buf-fer regions, and the fi ghting moved to Bosnia-Herzegovina. Th e seven-month campaign had cost some 10,000 lives and resulted in 700,000 displaced persons.30 While “ethnic cleansing” entered the journalistic lexicon at this time, genocide and allusions to World War II were not prominent in media discourse.

Th e Bosnian confl ict proved to be far more protracted and bloody than its predecessor. While fi ghting bitterly over Croatia, both Tudjman and Milosevic had dreamed of creating expanded national homelands. Serbs composed 31.1 percent of the Bosnian population and the Croats 17.3 percent. Muslims (43.7 percent) were loyal to neither side.31 A further quandary in dividing Bosnia was the paucity of ethnically homogenous enclaves. According to the 1991 census,

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Serbs could be found in 94.5 percent of the republic’s territory, Muslims in 94 percent, and Croats in 70 percent.32 Into this ethnic mosaic must be factored some 90,000–100,000 Serbian fi ghters, including Yugoslav People’s Army units and irregulars who were transferred from Croatia. Th ey surrounded the major popu-lation centers—Sarajevo, Mostar, Tuzla, and Bihac.33

While Alija Izetbegovic’s Party of Democratic Action (SDA) favored a uni-tary Bosnia, Serbian and Croatian leaders were more hostile to the idea. Th e Serbian Democratic Party (SDS) was founded two months aft er the SDA, led by Radovan Karadzic. A Bosnian branch of the Croatian HDZ was formed under Stjepan Kljuic.34 Aft er the referendum in August 1991 signaled Moslem and Croatian support for independence, Bosnian Serbs created four autonomous units in the republic. Bosnian Serbs held their own referendum in November, resulting in near-unanimous support for separation from Bosnia-Herzegovina and union with the SFRY.35

By early 1992, both Serbian and Croatian leaders had created autonomous eth-nic regions and laid the groundwork for the bloody dismemberment of the repub-lic. A variety of paramilitary organizations began operating in the region, such as the Tigers and White Eagles (Serbian) and Autumn Rain and the Croatian Defence Forces-HOS (Croatian). Bosnian Serbs also formed a separate army (the BSA), led by General Mladic and closely tied to the SDS. Fighting began in 1992 and quickly escalated into bloody ethnic war. Villages and towns were “cleansed” of ethnic “ene-mies.”36 Serbian forces appeared to follow a fi ve-stage process which began with “con-centrating” target populations, “decapitating” their leadership through executions, “separation” or division of civilians into men of fi ghting age and others, “evacuation” of women, children, and the elderly, and fi nally “liquidation” of men of fi ghting age and disposal of their bodies.37 Th is process would also be used at Srebrenica.

Cultural destruction played an important role in the campaign: some 1,400 churches and mosques were destroyed during the fi rst years of the war. Organized rape was also common on the Serbian side, with “rape camps” established in many confl ict zones. Th ese were designed not only for perverse sexual gratifi cation, but to humiliate “enemy” women—rendering them, in the context of their patriar-chal society, unfi t for marriage.38 Both Serbs and Croats also ran “detention cen-ters” and “collection camps” where prisoners were housed, frequently beaten and terrorized, sometimes sexually violated, and oft en killed. Of the larger camps, Serbs controlled thirteen and Croats four, although the Red Cross documented a total of fi ft y-one camps in all, many of them small and impromptu—located in camp grounds, schools, and even movie theaters.39

Srebrenica

In 1995, Serbs committed what the ITCY has confi rmed as genocide at Srebrenica—paradoxically, in one of six UN safe areas created under a Security Council mandate in 1993. While I use the term genocide, I raise questions below about its specifi c applicability in this case, of interest to genocide scholars. Th is


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was not the fi rst time Serbs had deliberately attacked UN safe areas. In April 1994 Gorazde was shelled, and Moslem homes were burned while the British com-manding offi cer stood by. Srebrenica, a former silver mining town, was in the heart of a region of Bosnia that abutted Serbia proper, and was thus a prime target for Serbian predation from the beginning of the war. Th e town proved diffi cult to defend. It was a small enclave with a large civilian population. Th e Bosnian Muslim forces present were poorly armed, and UN forces were also below opti-mum strength and located in easily targeted positions.40 Although the army of the Republic of Bosnia-Herzegovina had twice the number of soldiers, they had no heavy weapons. Th e Bosnian Serb Army, by contrast, had between 1,000 to 2,000 troops from the Fift h “Drina” Corps, as well as additional units and special forces. Th ese were well equipped with artillery and mortars, tanks, and tracked armored vehicles. Th eir military intelligence, communications, and command-and-control capacities were far superior to the Muslims’, and they thus enjoyed “an overwhelm-ing military advantage over the Bosnian Government forces in the enclave.”41

From February, the BSA began to restrict humanitarian aid into the safe area, and in April Dutchbat peacekeeping forces were restricted from entering or leaving the enclave. Fuel, food, and other supplies were also strictly managed. By early July, the UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) reported that it had managed to achieve only 30 percent of its food target for June. Th e BSA had eff ectively boxed in the peacekeepers.42

Th e BSA attack began on July 6 primarily from the southern part of the enclave. Dutchbat observation posts were targeted and shells lobbed into the enclave. Th e following day, things were quiet due to bad weather, but by July 8, BSA forces had surrounded two other observation posts and were beginning to tighten their hold on the enclave. As the BSA advanced, some 3,000 residents of the Swedish Shelter Project, located in the southern part of the enclave, fl ed to Srebrenica town to escape. By July 10, some 2,000 civilians were clustered around the hospital, hoping its spe-cial status would protect them from Serbian attacks. By the following day, Dutchbat forces had retreated further into the town, while thousands of civilians sought ref-uge in the peacekeeping compound at Potocari. Dutchbat forces let approximately 5,000 enter, but refused admission to the rest, who remained camped outside the compound. Altogether, the Dutchbat commander concluded by July 11 that there were some 15,000 people in or around the compound.43 At this stage, 70 percent of the Srebrenica population were civilians from elsewhere who had been “ethnically cleansed” and internally displaced by Serbian forces.44

UN forces allowed BSA forces access to the compound and put up little resis-tance as Mladic’s forces moved out civilians in buses, separating the men and the boys from the rest of the population. By July 11, thirty-one Dutch peacekeepers were being held hostage by the BSA.45 Th e Dutch were intimidated by the Serbs, and many later reported fearing for their lives. Most were told they would not be harmed if they cooperated, and seemed to accept the false assurances given them by Serbian offi cials concerning the fate of the Muslim civilians.46

Mladic did allow some fi ft y to sixty buses to evacuate women, children, and the infi rm, but a diff erent fate was planned for the men. Mladic demanded that

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all males ages sixteen to sixty-fi ve be questioned as potential “criminals” before being allowed to leave. Of the 239 men listed by the Dutchbat as inside the com-pound, few would survive the next several days. Many outside the compound were put in the so-called “White House” directly adjacent; 50 were killed on the fi rst night. Th e small number of men who were initially allowed to board evacu-ation buses were later removed and housed in a school in the town of Luka, where a number were later shot.47

Th e sorting process continued into July 12–13, with most of the men sent to the town of Bratunac, where they were housed in an old school and a ware-house, in buses and trucks, and on a football fi eld. Over the next four days they were systematically executed. Aft er detainees were assembled at the school complex of Karakaj, thousands were shipped out to killing locations near the town. Later reports identifi ed fi ve locations where mass executions took place: Orahovac, the “dam” near Petkovici, Branjevo farm, the Pilica Cultural Center, and Kozluk. In the case of the Branjevo farm, men were brought in by buses, blindfolded with their hands tied; they were then shot and dumped in mass graves. Others were taken to the agricultural warehouse in Kravica, where they were killed by small arms and grenades. Another seventy people were killed in a meadow near Kravica, and several hundred more in the football stadium in Nova Kasaba.48

Th e ICTY has estimated that most victims were buried in mass graves within forty-eight hours of their execution. In the months to follow, BSA forces attempted to cover their tracks by reburying the bodies in some thirty-three “secondary sites” containing smaller numbers of bodies.49 Stray clothing, bags, and other things were burned or otherwise disposed of. Dutchbat forces witnessed bodies being removed and evidence of the killings destroyed. No trace was to remain of the killing operation.50

Sensing the danger, many of Srebrenica’s men had chosen by July 12 to escape toward the Bosnian stronghold at Tuzla, some fi ft y kilometers away. Th is carried them directly through Serbian lines. Some 15,000 men began the trek. A third were armed and positioned at the front of the exodus, followed by a long column of unarmed men. In time, several thousand were attacked by Serbian heavy weap-ons. BSA forces exhorted the Muslim men to surrender; when they did, they were routinely beaten, then killed almost down to the last captive. Th ose who made it to safety—disproportionately from the armed part of the column—estimated that approximately 3,000 of their number had been killed, either directly by BSA forces or by stepping on landmines.51 Th roughout, a high level of organization and systematic implementation prevailed in the selection, “cleansing,” and killing operations.

What were the motives? On one level, Srebrenica was strategically valuable. It was part of the territory Bosnian Serbs sought to incorporate into their own repub-lic. Mladic’s goal was to ethnically cleanse the entire eastern portion of Bosnia, making it a Serbian preserve. Zepa, another putative safe area, was subjected to ethnic cleansing a week later. Ironically, genocide helped Serbia accomplish its geostrategic goals. While the region was supposed to become Muslim-controlled


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under the Dayton Peace Accord, both Srebrenica and Zepa became part of the Bosnian Serb Republic.52

Srebrenica was also a symbol. As a major refugee center for Muslims from across Bosnia, it was strategically important for Mladic to “cleanse” it. Th e tar-geted men and boys were killed to ensure that Muslims could never return and reestablish a viable community.53 Destroying Srebrenica served as a warning and a humiliation to the Bosnian Muslim leadership.

David Rohde also touches on a more visceral dimension: namely, residual fear stirred up by Serbian propagandists. Th e circulation of the previously banned novel Bloody Hands of Islam described Muslim and Croat atrocities against Serbs around Srebrenica during World War II—stoking fears of renewed bloodshed. Such fears seemed justifi ed by Srebrenica strongman Naser Oric’s supposed exe-cution of 120 Serbs in 1992. Whether the nature and scale of Oric’s crimes were accurately conveyed, the accounts captured the imagination of many Serbian com-batants, convincing them that Bosnian Muslims posed a genuine military threat.54 Interestingly, Oric would be indicted at the ICTY for violations of the laws or customs of war, namely for seven murders of Serbs, the beating of several others, and the destruction by “Muslim armed units in the Municipalities of Bratunac, Srebrenica and Skelani . . . [of] a minimum of fi ft y predominantly Serb villages and hamlets” in attacks launched mostly from the Srebrenica “safe area.”55

Ultimately, Oric faced a much reduced sentence: he was not convicted of the murders, nor of the destruction of villages and hamlets.56 Whether he was actively resisting Serbian genocidal plans stemming from 1992 (as his lawyer suggested) or instigating his own brand of terror remains in dispute.55 Serbs circulated many other stories of Muslim atrocities—46 dead in May 1992 and another 120 dead in July 1992 in Zalaje, with another 100 Serbs burned alive in January 1993 in the town of Kravica. Whatever the veracity of individual accounts, they spawned anger and fear. For some Serbian commanders like General Milenko Zivanovic, the resulting “bitterness was deeply personal.”58

Indictment for Genocide

Both Mladic and Karadzic would later be charged with genocide, crimes against humanity, and violations of the laws or customs of war. Pertinent to this chapter are the genocide charges, which relate specifi cally to Srebrenica. As ICTY pros-ecutor Richard Goldstone outlined the case:

Between about 12 July 1995 and 13 July 1995 . . . Bosnian Serb military per-sonnel, under the command and control of ratko mladic and radovan karadzic, summarily executed many Bosnian Muslim refugees who remained in Potocari. . . . Between about 13 July 1995 and 22 July 1995, Bosnian Serb military personnel, under the command and control of ratko mladic and radovan karadzic, summarily executed many Bosnian Muslim men who fl ed to the woods and were later captured or surrendered. . . . On or about 14 July 1995, Bosnian Serb military personnel, under the command and control

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of ratko mladic and radovan karadzic, transported thousands of Muslim men from this school complex [near Karakaj] to two locations a short distance away. At these locations, Bosnian Serb soldiers, with the knowledge of ratko mladic, summarily executed these Bosnian Muslim detainees and buried them in mass graves.59

In indicting suspects for a gender-based, city-based genocide, it was cru-cial for the ICTY to clearly articulate what the Genocide Convention’s provision for destruction “in part” of a targeted group meant in this context. Th e tribunal had to begin by identifying Bosnian Muslims as a separate people. During the Krstic trial, the court argued that Krstic indeed “intend[ed] to destroy a part of the Bosnian Muslim people as a national, ethnical, or religious group.” It argued further that “the Bosnian Muslims were a specifi c, distinct national group, and therefore covered by Article 4.” Th e court further recognized that “it is well estab-lished that where a conviction for genocide relies on the intent to destroy a pro-tected group ‘in part,’ the part must be a substantial part of that group.”60

So far so good; but how can one leap from defi ning genocide as targeting a minority group as such (the Convention requirement) to targeting a small pro-portion of that population living in a specifi c city and its environs? It was clear that Krstic had not attempted to exterminate the entire Bosnian Muslim nation. Th us, the Srebrenica ruling of genocide seems at fi rst glance to violate many of the precedents of the ICTY and ICTR (International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda). For example, the issue of “substantial” was addressed carefully by the ICTY in 2004. In previous decisions like Jelisić and Sikirica, a “substantial part” or a “substantial number relative to the total population of the group,” respectively, needed to be targeted for an allegation of genocide to be sustained. Similarly, before the ICTR, in Kayishema, the Trial Chamber determined that a “consider-able number of individuals who are part of the group” needed to be targeted for destruction before the Genocide Convention could be invoked. Th is was further upheld in Bagilishema and Semanza. Th e court on the basis of these decisions upheld the applicability of the Convention.61

Th e Srebrenica case, however, seems to have moved the goalposts to some extent. While the “protected group” was defi ned as “the national group of Bosnian Muslims,” Krstic was accused of targeting “the Bosnian Muslims of Srebrenica, or the Bosnian Muslims of Eastern Bosnia.” As such, 8,000 individuals represented a substantial part of the 40,000-strong Bosnian Muslim population of Srebrenica. Th e ICTY, however, saw this as genocide, in part due to the strategic importance of the city and its surrounding territory to the Bosnian Serb leadership, as well as its sym-bolism as a UN safe haven. As the court argued: “Th e elimination of the Muslim population of Srebrenica . . . would serve as a potent example to all Bosnian Muslims of their vulnerability and defenselessness in the face of Serb military forces.”62

Genocide scholars should, I argue, carefully examine the court’s rationale here. Obviously, Srebrenica men and boys were deliberately targeted with mas-sacre and were systematically killed. Th e court’s reasoning is interesting but not entirely convincing. Does a fi nding of genocide depend on the strategic or sym-bolic importance of the place where the killing occurs? If so, why? Th is is not


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really explained, and it places some victims in a diff erent category under inter-national law than others—not so much because of who they are, but where they are. Further, the decision throws into question the signifi cance of the “in part” criterion. Can the massacre of 8,000 civilians really be genocide? Where does the remaining Bosnian Muslim population fi t in the mix?

Second, classifying Srebrenica as genocide opens a Pandora’s box for almost any other crime of similar numerical or proportional magnitude to be similarly classifi ed, from the “rape of Nanking” to the fi rebombing of German cities dur-ing World War II. Th ird, the decision reinforces the widely held Serbian view that there is one law for Serbs and another for non-Serbs. Th e view that the Convention has been stretched to target the Serbs does not sit well in Serbia, and has tarnished the image of the tribunal process.

Lastly, we have the Oric debacle. On trial for his own brand of ethnic cleans-ing, Oric and his forces arguably did not have the means to infl ict the same level of destruction as BSA forces. Th eir atrocities were primarily reactive and less well organized. Nevertheless, the traditional view that the victim group in genocide is “innocent” or “defenseless” is challenged when we consider the attacks that Oric led against Serbian communities. Katherine Southwick, in a recent edition of the Yale Human Rights and Development Law Journal, raises a question as to whether the ICTY successfully proved specifi c intent or dolens specialis in the Krstic deci-sion. She argues that the tribunal never took seriously the defense’s claim of hav-ing been challenging a military threat. It would, she posits, have been more accu-rate to indict Krstic for crimes against humanity.63 Th is in no way excuses Serbian conduct, which was brutal, bloodthirsty, and completely unacceptable. Rather, it raises questions about the legal fi nding of genocide, though further exploration of these issues lies beyond the scope of the chapter.

Denouement: The Politics of Serbian Genocide Scholarship

In the aft ermath of the 1995 Dayton Peace Accord, Bosnia-Herzegovina was divided into a Serbian Republic and a Croat-Muslim Federation. Th e accord gave Serbs much of the land they had “cleansed” by force, reinforcing the view that while democracy was a goal of the accord, ethnic separation was a reality.64 Sixty percent of Bosnia’s inhabitants were forced from their homes, and more than 1.3 million people (some 30 percent of the population) were dispersed in sixty-three countries.65 Th is was in addition to a death toll of perhaps 280,000 by the war’s end.66

Croatia achieved a measure of stability following Dayton. In 1995, Milosevic eff ectively abandoned the Bosnian Serbs, looking on as Croatian forces retook Croatian Serb strongholds.67 In late April 1995, the Croatian Army launched an attack on western Slavonia, and within thirty-six hours managed to take back the region.68 By August, the Croatian Army seized the Krajina region in a campaign lasting just eighty-four hours.69

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Of interest to historians is how the events of Jasenovac in an earlier war, and Srebrenica in a later one, will shape Serbian identity in the future. My conclusions are unfortunately pessimistic: Jasenovac and other historical events will continue to be viewed through a lens of Serbian victimology. In contemporary Serbian accounts of the era, Jasenovac was but one aspect of a much older hatred of the Serbs, which has been dubbed “Serbophobia.” Th e term denoted a historic fear, hatred, and jealousy of Serbs, oft en likened to antisemitism in terms of its ideo-logical motivation and fury.”70

Predictably, many Serbian nationalists and scholars pushed the World War II death tolls as high as they could reach. Th e numbers of Serbs killed at Jasenovac was intensively debated, with estimates ranging (on the Serbian side) from 700,000 to 2 million, far out of proportion to more impartial appraisals.71 Milan Bulajic, who served as the director of the Museum of the Victims of Genocide in Belgrade, became famous for his theorizing about an eliminationist racism directed toward Serbs. For Bulajic, the motivations of Croats and the Vatican never changed. As they had in the nineteenth century, these two groups still sought to destroy the Orthodox Church in order to expand Roman Catholicism throughout the Balkans.72

Older studies were reedited in line with new government priorities. Vladimir Dedijer’s thought-provoking account of Jasenovac received a Holocaust gloss designed primarily to heighten its propaganda value. Th e original Serbo-Croatian title, Vatikan i Jasenovac, had morphed by 1992 into Jasenovac: Th e Yugoslav Ausch-witz and the Vatican.73 In the process, Jasenovac was explicitly compared to the para-gon of the Nazis’ death-camp system, and the number of alleged Serbian dead grew threefold. While Dedijer provides a fi gure of 200,000 killed at Jasenovac, primarily Serbs (a fi gure echoed in Gottfried Niemietz’s foreword to the German edition, and roughly in keeping with other scholarly estimates), Belgrade University’s Mihailo Markovic, in his preliminary note, gives a fi gure of 750,000 Serbian victims, fol-lowed by Jews and Gypsies. Th is was, he avers, to be a “‘fi nal solution’ for Serbs.”74 In order to give the book a timely wartime context, Markovic declared of Tudjman’s Croatia: “Th e world must not forget that during World War II the fate of Serbs in Croatia was very similar to that of the Jews. With [a] little imagination one can guess how a Jewish minority in Germany would feel if another pro-Nazi, racist govern-ment would come to power and begin to make militant anti-Semitic moves.”75

Th e problems of interpreting and representing the 1940s invariably spilled over into the 1990s and aft er. Th e idealized image of Serbs as history’s leading vic-tims (alongside European Jews) makes sober refl ection and self-criticism exceed-ingly diffi cult. Even in the post-Milosevic era, a staggering lack of remorse for Serbian crimes is evident in Srebrenica and elsewhere.76 One might have assumed that Milosevic’s handover to the ITCY would help Serbs engage with their nation’s guilt. Th e reverse proved to be true. Th e trial bolstered widely held perceptions that the West was punishing Milosevic as a way of punishing Serbia. President Vojislav Kostunica, who opposed the extradition of Milosevic, expressed the view of most Serbs—that domestic trials needed to take place fi rst. When Milosevic was charged exclusively with crimes against non-Serbs committed outside Serbia, many felt that justice had been denied.77


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Public opinion polls conducted in 2001 revealed that over 52 percent of respon-dents “could not name a single war crime committed by Serb forces in Bosnia, Croatia, or Kosovo. Nearly half, however, could name at least three crimes commit-ted against Serb civilians by other forces.” Further, Karadzic and Mladic continued to be heralded as the two “greatest defenders of the Serb nation.”78 Th e 2003 elec-tions demonstrated clearly the memory problems still present in Serbia. Th e Serbian Radical Party of warlord Vojislav Seselj drew broad support, and T-shirts of Mladic and Karadzic were sold throughout the campaign.79

Th en, in June 2005, a video from the Srebrenica massacres stunned the Serbian public. Th e fi lm captured the murder of six civilians by a Serbian para-military group known as “Th e Scorpions.” President Boris Tadic averred that “Serbia is deeply shocked.” Yet as far as he was concerned, the crimes, though committed “in the name of our nation,” were the responsibility of individuals who did not represent Serbian interests. A survey held in late May 2005 showed that only half of Serbs believed the Srebrenica massacre had even taken place.80 Th e Ministry of Information continued its oblique reaction to the video, refer-ring to it in mid-2005 as “a fi lm of the crime in Srebrenica,” following this later by describing Srebrenica as “that shameful crime.” But no details were forthcoming about the crime, or the guilty parties.81

At present, then, the Serbian past through to Jasenovac is viewed as an evolv-ing campaign of Serbophobia culminating in the Ustasha genocide. Th e post-Jasenovac era, for its part, is depicted as a time of continued repression and vic-timization, with frequent analogies drawn between World War II and the 1990s. It is doubtful that Serbian nationalists will thus learn anything from history, save for the lessons they selectively choose to interpret through a narrow nationalist lens. With a subaltern identifi cation so deeply embedded in nationalist narra-tives, and so regularly deployed for political purposes, the chances of a moral reckoning seem slim. Th is is doubly so in the context of Kosovo’s bid for indepen-dence, which threatens to further energize Serbia’s political right. In the February 2008 elections, for example, the Radicals under Tomislav Nikolic almost came to power with 47.9 percent of the vote.82

One may perceive similar dynamics at work in other genocides and post-genocidal contexts. Th e Rwandan government under President Kagame since 1994 has regularly deployed the mass slaughter of Tutsis as grounds for evading acknowledgment of crimes committed by Tutsi-led forces against Hutu civil-ians in the later stages of the genocide, and in Zaire/Congo thereaft er. As chap-ters in this volume by Evelin G. Lindner, Eric Langenbacher, and Adam Jones explore, the Nazis drew heavily on German suff ering and humiliation aft er the First World War to wage their genocidal campaigns of the Second World War; victimized populations then drew upon their suff ering at Nazi hands to justify the brutal treatment and mass expulsion of ethnic Germans from the formerly occupied territories. Many such instances could be cited, and they serve as reminders of the destructive dynamics that subaltern identifi cations may gener-ate, particularly when harnessed by political leaders and directed to bellicose and genocidal ends.

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Notes 1. Transitions Online, “Guilty of Genocide.” 2. Honig and Both, Srebrenica: Record of a Crime, xix. 3. See introduction to this volume. 4. Zivkovic, “Th e Wish to Be a Jew,” 73. 5. Popov, “Traumatology of the Party State,” 81–83. 6. Kecmanovic, Ethnic Times, 54–56. 7. Ibid., 56. 8. Hendershot, “From Trauma to Paranoia.” 9. McFarlane, Golier, and Yahuda, “Treatment Planning for Trauma Survivors

with PTSD,” 10–13.10. Volkan, Bloodlines: From Ethnic Pride to Ethnic Terrorism, 43.11. Bogosavljevic, “Th e Unresolved Genocide,” 146.12. Mirkovic, “Th e Historical Link between the Ustasha Genocide and the Croato-

Serb Civil War: 1991–1995,” 365–67.13. Ibid., 370.14. Ridley, Tito, 164.15. Dedijer, Th e Yugoslav Auschwitz and the Vatican, 129; Jelinek, “Nationalities

and Minorities in the Independent State of Croatia,” 196–97.16. United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Genocide in Yugoslavia During the

Holocaust; Dedijer, Th e Yugoslav Auschwitz and the Vatican, 225–65.17. Dedijer, Th e Yugoslav Auschwitz and the Vatican, 225–65.18. Tanner, Croatia: A Nation Forged in War, 160.19. Judah, Th e Serbs: History, Myth and the Destruction of Yugoslavia, 120.20. Jones, Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction, 22–23.21. MacDonald, Balkan Holocausts?, chapter 5.22. Djilas, Th e Contested Country, 150–59.23. Banac, Eastern Europe in Revolution, 173–75.24. Magas, Th e Destruction of Yugoslavia, 110.25. Cohen, Broken Bonds, 95.26. Cigar, Genocide in Bosnia, 88, 98–99.27. Cohen, Broken Bonds, 18.28. Laura Silber and Alan Little, Th e Death of Yugoslavia, 100–11, 146–47.29. Ibid., 195–201.30. Power, “A Problem from Hell,” 247.31. Bringa, Being Muslim the Bosnian Way, 26.32. Mahmutcehajic, “Th e Road to War,” 141.33. Divjak, “Th e First Phase: 1992–1993,” 155.34. Silber and Little, Th e Death of Yugoslavia, 230–31.35. Campbell, National Deconstruction, 58–59.36. Gutman, Witness to Genocide, 23; Malic, “Herceg Camp.”37. Th is is according to journalist Mark Danner, cited in Jones, Genocide, 216.38. Ronayne, Never Again, 109.39. Gutman, Witness to Genocide, 23.40. Honig and Both, Srebrenica: Record of a Crime, 4–5.41. United Nations Secretary General, “Report of the Secretary-General Pursuant

to General Assembly Resolution 53/35: Th e Fall of Srebrenica,” 55.42. Ibid., 56–7.


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43. Ibid., 59–61, 64, 67, 70–72.44. Rohde, Endgame: Th e Betrayal and Fall of Srebrenica, 107.45. United Nations Secretary General, “Report of the Secretary-General,” 74–75.46. Honig and Both, Srebrenica: Record of a Crime, 30, 35.47. United Nations Secretary General, “Report of the Secretary-General,” 74–76.48. Ibid., 79–80, 82; International Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY), “Th e

Prosecutor of Th e Tribunal Against Radovan Karadzic and Ratko Mladic.”49. United Nations Secretary General, “Report of the Secretary-General,” 83.50. Honig and Both, Srebrenica: Record of a Crime, 60.51. United Nations Secretary General, “Report of the Secretary-General,” 71–72,

86, 90.52. Ronayne, Never Again, 111; Holbrooke, To End a War, 68–69.53. Honig and Both, Srebrenica: Record of a Crime, 176–77.54. Rohde, Endgame: Th e Betrayal and Fall of Srebrenica, 14.55. ICTY, “Th e Prosecutor of Th e Tribunal Against Naser Oric.”56. “Bosnian Muslim Guilty but Freed.”57. “Srebrenica Muslim Chief on Trial.”58. Rohde, Endgame: Th e Betrayal and Fall of Srebrenica, 215.59. ICTY, “Naser Oric.”60. ICTY Appeals Chamber, “Prosecutor v. Radislav Krstic,” 2.61. Ibid., 3.62. Ibid., 5–6.63. Southwick, “Srebrenica as Genocide?”64. Udovicki and Stitkovac, “Bosnia and Hercegovina: Th e Second War,” 198–99.65. Campbell, National Deconstruction, 221.66. Glover, Humanity: A Moral History of the Twentieth Century, 127–29.67. Holbrooke, To End a War, 160–62.68. Tanner, Croatia: A Nation Forged in War, 294.69. Judah, Th e Serbs, 195–98.70. Cosic, L’éff ondrement de la Yougoslavie, 44.71. MacDonald, Balkan Holocausts?, chap. 5.72. Bulajić, “Never Again: Genocide in the NDH.”73. Dedijer, Th e Yugoslav Auschwitz and the Vatican.74. Ibid.75. Markovic, in ibid., 14.76. Lyon, “Words of War,” 224.77. Karadjis, “Yugoslavia: Th e Milosevic Regime without Milosevic.”78. Devic, “War Guilt and Responsibility.”79. Nikolic-Solomon and Tanner, “Shadow of Hague Falls Over Serbian Election.”

80. “Serbian Leader ‘Shocked’ by Video.” 81. Serbian Ministry of Information, “Del Ponte Commends Government’s Action.”

82. Bilefsky, “Tadic Wins Serbian Re-election as President.”

Works CitedBanac, Ivo. Eastern Europe in Revolution. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992.BBC News. “Bosnian Muslim Guilty but Freed.” June 30, 2006.BBC News. “Serbian Leader ‘Shocked’ by Video.” June 3, 2005.BBC News. “Srebrenica Muslim Chief on Trial.” October 6, 2004.

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Bilefsky, Dan. “Tadic Wins Serbian Re-election as President.” International Herald Tribune. February 3, 2008.

Bogosavljevic, Srdan. “Th e Unresolved Genocide.” In Th e Road to War in Serbia: Trauma and Catharsis, ed. Nebojsa Popov, 146–60. Budapest: Central European University Press, 2000.

Bringa, Tone. Being Muslim the Bosnian Way: Identity and Community in a Central Bos-nian Village. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995.

Bulajić, Milan. “Never Again: Genocide in the NDH: Ustashi Genocide the Independent State of Croatia NDH From 1941–1945.” Belgrade: Serbian Ministry of Information. http://www.yugoslavia.com/Society_and_Law/Jasenovac/ndh.htm. Accessed June 18, 1998.

Campbell, David. National Deconstruction: Violence. Identity, and Justice in Bosnia. Minne-apolis: University of Minneapolis Press, 1998.

Cigar, Norman. Genocide in Bosnia: Th e Policy of “Ethnic Cleansing.” College Station: Texas A & M University Press, 1995.

Cohen, Lenard. Broken Bonds: Yugoslavia’s Disintegration and Balkan Politics in Transition. Boulder. Colo.: Westview Press, 1995.

Cosic, Dobrica. L’éff ondrement de la Yougoslavie: positions d’un resistant. Paris: Age ‘Homme, 1994.

Dedijer, Vladimir. Th e Yugoslav Auschwitz and the Vatican: Th e Croatian Massacre of the Serbs during World War II. London: Prometheus Books. 1992.

Devic, Ana. “War Guilt and Responsibility: Th e Case of Serbia: Diverging Attempts at Fac-ing the Recent Past.” GSC Quarterly (Spring 2003). http://www.ssrc.org/programs/gsc/gsc_quarterly/newsletter8/content/devic.page. Accessed September 20, 2004.

Divjak, Jovan. “Th e First Phase: 1992–1993.” In Th e War in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, 1991–1995, ed. Branka Magas and Ivo Zanic, 152–78. London: Frank Cass, 2001.

Djilas, Aleksa. Th e Contested Country: Yugoslav Unity and Communist Revolution. 1919–1953. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996.

Glover, Jonathan. Humanity: A Moral History of the Twentieth Century. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001.

Gutman, Roy. Witness to Genocide. New York: Lisa Drew Books, 1993.Hendershot, Catherine. “From Trauma to Paranoia: Nuclear Weapons, Science Fiction,

and History.” Mosaic 32, no. 4 (1999): 73–90.Holbrooke, Richard. To End a War. New York: Random House, 1999.Honig, Jan, and Norbert Both. Srebrenica: Record of a Crime. London: Penguin, 1996.International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia. “Th e Prosecutor of the Tribunal

Against Naser Oric.” Case no. IT-03-68 (PT third amended indictment). Th e Hague: ICTY, June 2005. http://www.un.org/icty/indictment/english/ori-3ai050630e.htm. Accessed February 2, 2007.

International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia. “Th e Prosecutor of the Tri-bunal Against Radovan Karadzic and Ratko Mladic.” Case no. IT-95-5-I. Th e Hague: ICTY, 1995. http://www.un.org/icty/indictment/english/kar-ii951116e.htm. Accessed February 2, 2007.

International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia Appeals Chamber. “Prosecutor v. Radislav Krstic.” Case no. IT-98-33-A. Th e Hague: ICTY, April 19, 2004. http://www.un.org/icty/krstic/Appeal/judgement/krs-aj040419e.pdf. Accessed March 2, 2008.

Jelinek, Yeshayahu. “Nationalities and Minorities in the Independent State of Croatia.” Nationalities Papers 8, no. 2 (1980): 195–210.

Jones, Adam. Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction. London: Routledge, 2006.


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Judah, Tim. Th e Serbs: History, Myth and the Destruction of Yugoslavia. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996.

Karadjis, Marko. “Yugoslavia: Th e Milosevic Regime without Milosevic.” Green Left Weekly (July 18, 2001). http://www.greenleft .org.au/back/2001/456/456p19.htm. Accessed September 20, 2004.

Kecmanovic, Dusan. Ethnic Times: Exploring Ethnonationalism in the Former Yugoslavia. Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 2002.

Lyon, Philip. “Words of War: Journalism in the Former Yugoslavia.” SAIS Review 23, no. 2 (Summer–Fall 2003).

MacDonald, David. Balkan Holocausts? Serbian and Croatian Victim Centered Propaganda and the War in Yugoslavia. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002.

Magas, Branka. Th e Destruction of Yugoslavia: Tracing the Breakup 1980–1992. London: Verso, 1993.

Mahmutcehajic, Rusmir. “Th e Road to War.” In Th e War in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina 1991–1995, ed. Branka Magas and Ivo Zanic, 133–52. London: Frank Cass, 2001.

Malic, Gordan. “Herceg Camp.” Feral Tribune. April 29, 1996. http://www.cdsp.neu.edu/info/students/marko/feral/fera131.html. Accessed June 18, 1995.

McFarlane, Susan, Julia Golier, and Rachel Yahuda. “Treatment Planning for Trauma Survivors with PTSD: What Does a Clinician Need to Know Before Implementing PTSD Treatment?” In Treating Trauma: Survivors with PTSD, ed. Rachel Yahuda. Washington, D.C.: American Psychiatric Publishing, 2002.

Mirkovic, Damir. “Th e Historical Link between the Ustasha Genocide and the Croato-Serb Civil War: 1991–1995.” Journal of Genocide Research 2, no. 3 (2000): 163–73.

Nebojsa, Popov. “Traumatology of the Party State.” In Th e Road to War in Serbia: Trauma and Catharsis, ed. Nebojsa Popov, 81–109. Budapest: Central European University Press, 2000.

Nikolic-Solomon, Dragana, and Marcus Tanner. “Shadow of Hague Falls Over Serbian Election.” BCR 502 (June 10, 2004). http://www.iwpr.net/index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200406_502_1_eng.txt. Accessed September 20, 2004.

Power, Samantha. “A Problem from Hell”: America and the Age of Genocide. New York: Harper Perennial, 2003.

Ridley, Jasper. Tito. London: Constable, 1994.Rohde, David. Endgame: Th e Betrayal and Fall of Srebrenica. Europe’s Worst Massacre

Since World War II. Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1997.Ronayne, Peter. Never Again: United States and the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide

since the Holocaust. Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefi eld, 2001.Serbian Ministry of Information. “Del Ponte Commends Government’s Action in Appre-

hension of Srebrenica Suspects.” June 2, 2005. http://www.srbija.sr.gov.yu/vesti/vest.php?id=12880&q=srebrenica. Accessed September 20, 2006.

Silber, Laura, and Alan Little. Th e Death of Yugoslavia. London: BBC, 1996.Southwick, Katherine. “Srebrenica as Genocide? Th e Krstic Decision and the Language

of the Unspeakable.” Yale Human Rights and Development Law Journal 1 (January 2005): 88–227.

Tanner, Marcus. Croatia: A Nation Forged in War. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997.Transitions Online. “Guilty of Genocide.” August 7, 2001. http://balkanreport.tol.cz/look/

BRR/article. Accessed June 2003.Udovicki, Jasminka, and Ejub Stitkovac. “Bosnia and Hercegovina: Th e Second War.” In

Burn Th is House: Th e Making and Unmaking of Yugoslavia, ed. Jasminka Udovicki and James Ridgeway, 174–215. Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2000.

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United Nations Secretary General. “Report of the Secretary-General Pursuant to General Assembly Resolution 53/35: Th e Fall of Srebrenica.” New York: United Nations, November 15, 1999.

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Volkan, Vamik. Bloodlines: From Ethnic Pride to Ethnic Terrorism. London: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 1997.

Zivkovic, Marko. “Th e Wish to Be a Jew: Th e Power of the Jewish Trope in the Yugoslav Confl ict.” Cahiers de L’URMIS no. 6 (2000): 69–84.


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Visions of the “Oppressor” in Rwanda’s Pre-Genocidal Media

CHRISTOPHER C. TAYLOR

On April 6, 1994, the fl ames of the twentieth century’s last genocide were ignited when Rwanda’s president, Juvénal Habyarimana, was killed when his plane was downed by a shoulder-held missile. I was pres-

ent in Rwanda and working as a behavioral research specialist for Family Health International (a contractor to USAID). Less than three days later, along with other members of the American expatriate community, my Rwandan Tutsi fi ancée and I were evacuated from Rwanda by a land convoy headed for Bujumbura, Burundi. We stayed there for several days. Each day we learned, from the few Rwandan ref-ugees who managed to make it there, who among our friends and acquaintances had been killed and who was still alive. From Bujumbura we fl ew to Nairobi, where we spent the next four months. Th ere as well, refugees of Rwanda’s crisis were arriving in small numbers. Each passing day brought news of survivors, but more frequently, news of those who had been killed.

Although killings on a massive scale began just hours aft er Habyarimana’s assassination, rumors of widespread massacres had been in the air for months. One of my closest Rwandan friends, killed on the fi rst night of the genocide, oft en argued, “It’s not possible for anyone to wipe out an entire people.” “Oh yes it is,” I would reply, “so you had better do your best to get out of here or keep a low profi le.” Although my friend was Tutsi, he, like many others of his ethnicity, had not been in favor of the invasion that the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) had mounted from Uganda in 1990. Moreover, in an indirect way he was tied to the regime, as his Hutu wife was the sister-in-law of someone highly placed in the Habyarimana government. Months later, that same government, in an eff ort to blame the RPF invasion on Tutsi in general, imprisoned many of them, though most had not supported the RPF in any way. My friend was among them. Subjected to daily abuse, he was fi nally released aft er his wife’s brother-in-law intervened. Aft er his release, he made no attempt to conceal his pro-RPF sympathies. Today, it is the brother-in-law who is a prisoner. Accused of crimes against humanity, he is in the custody of the International War Crimes Tribunal on Rwanda in Arusha, Tanzania. Months before the genocide, he had warned my friend on several occasions. Th ere were going to be massacres, he

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said, and they would make those that occurred in 1959 seem small by compari-son.1 He advised my friend to leave while he could. Th at large-scale massacres were being planned was hardly in doubt among Rwandans whom I spoke with during the early months of 1994. Only American diplomats and employees of USAID seemed to think that the peace agreement between the warring sides still had a chance of success.

Although the war between Rwandan Government Forces (RGF) and the RPF had temporarily abated with the signing of the Arusha accords in August 1993, later that year the political situation began to deteriorate. Th e propaganda campaign on the part of all the interested parties was heating up, and this was especially apparent on Rwanda’s infamous “hate radio,” Radio-Télévision Libre des Mille Collines (RTLM). For years before, however, Rwanda’s print media had been fanning the fi res of ethno-nationalist passion. A “free press” was some-thing new in Rwanda. Before the democratization initiative pushed by France and other Western powers in the late 1980s and early 1990s,2 Rwanda had had only a handful of printed news sources, and these were very cautious in tone. By the early 1990s—with widespread discontent at home, war with the RPF on its northern border, and pressure from Western donor states abroad—the Rwandan government was forced to accept opposition political parties and an open press.

Although a free press came to life, it had no history, few precedents to follow, and little constraints on its actions. Consequently fantasy, rumor, and slander all took their places at the table with fact, and all appeared to be drinking from the same chalice. Distinguishing between truth and falsehood was diffi cult. In every rumor and every allegation there was an element of plausibility, and many found their way into print. Th e print media consisted of dozens of cheap news maga-zines. Almost every one of Rwanda’s numerous political parties had a magazine, and many of the factions within these parties had magazines as well. Some had only the most ephemeral existence; others had been around for years. Selling for modest sums, they did a brisk business, and because many of their readers were not fully literate, they relied heavily on photos, illustrations, and cartoons. In both the illustrations and the printed stories, we see evidence of the rekindling of colonial stereotypes concerning Tutsi. Perhaps this was to be expected, but what was more surprising was that these oft en betrayed envy, as well as fear and resentment.

In this chapter I discuss aspects of Rwanda’s social imaginary where issues of sex, gender, and leadership are concerned. First, I discuss what I mean by the terms “social imaginary,” and then show how this was deployed in media sources. In order for the genocide to occur, it was necessary to arouse the passions of Hutu extremists. In other violent confl icts, information sources of one form or another have served to fan the sentiments of hate and disgust against targeted groups.3 Quite oft en, the targeted groups are convenient as scapegoats because of their remoteness or defenselessness. In this instance, however, the targeted group was a minority that had once been masters of Rwanda. Th eir dominance in some parts of Rwanda can be traced back about three hundred years.4 In other parts of Rwanda, most notably northern Rwanda, Tutsi dominance was recent and imposed only

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with the aid of European colonial powers.5 In both cases, the memory of Tutsi control had yet to fade. Th e speed and ferocity of Rwanda’s genocide can be traced to the fact that even though Hutu had controlled Rwanda since the early 1960s, many of them did not feel confi dent that their dominance was secure.

As for Tutsi, despite decades of being treated as second-class citizens, dis-criminated against in employment, and denied access to higher education, many had managed to do quite well. Moreover, many highly placed Hutu notables had Tutsi wives or mistresses.6 Th is was a thorn in the side of Hutu extremism, and indicative of its contradictory sentiments of desire, fear, and envy—something one expects more from an oppressed group than from a dominant group. It is in these contradictory passions and imaginings that we see Rwanda’s exterminatory violence as a “genocide by the oppressed,” and not simply as a genocide perpe-trated by a dominant majority against a vulnerable minority.

Violence and the Social Imaginary

When the state implements a campaign of violence, it spares no expense to legiti-mize its actions according to local moral perceptions that are more or less in har-mony with subjacent cultural codes. Th e state’s organized violence is supported and institutionalized by ideologies which make destructive acts appear justifi ed for the maintenance of collective well-being. Frequently, public media serve as the means by which these ideologies are communicated to the mass of the state’s citizens, and in which the purported validity of the associated ideologies is expressed and enacted. However, these media also convey deeper, less imme-diately apprehensible desires and fears, especially when they rely on nonverbal means of communication. Th ese latter are less accessible to conscious appercep-tion, more archetypal in nature, and less likely to be construed by social actors as having obvious and clear-cut ideological content. One could think of them as infra-ideological.

Following Aijmer’s discussion of violence,7 the analytical scheme of which bears a close resemblance to that used by Godelier in an apparently unrelated context8—the ambiguities left unresolved in Mauss’s discussion of the gift —one could posit the existence of three dimensions to state violence and to the persua-sive means that serve to justify it: the imaginary, the symbolic, and the real. At the least apprehensible level is what Aijmer and Godelier term the “imaginary.” Th is consists of iconic images organized into diff use cultural codes and shared for the most part among members of a single group. Th ese constitute the base of the social imaginary in its envisioning of possible worlds. Th is material is only intuitively cognized by social actors, and consists of what Roy Wagner would call “symbols that stand for themselves”9—in other words, symbols that are not readily translatable into a verbal or discursive idiom. Th ese symbols and diff use codes constitute a collective body of implicit knowledge refl ecting the group’s profoundest fears and desires. Th is is also the level least accessible to the social actors themselves and their exegesis. Despite the relative inaccessibility of this

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iconic imaginary base to the persons who embody it, it precedes and conditions everything that is more conscious in nature. In this respect Godelier explicitly marks his diff erence from both Lacan and Lévi-Strauss, who see the symbolic as logically prior to both the imaginary and the real.

At the next level, what Aijmer terms the “discursive” and Godelier terms the “symbolic,” verbal elements come to the fore. It is here that agentive phenomena are manifest as social actors verbalize what their intentions are, and act these out in consonance with avowed pragmatic ends. Th is is the domain of language, dis-course, and narrative. People will usually be able to identify and verbalize what the ideologies of their supporters and opponents are, and explain the pragmatic ends that are served with any particular statement or action. It is here that strat-egizing is most apparent, as social actors weigh the consequences of one course of action over another and then behave accordingly. Th is is also the level where disagreement, confl ict, and struggle are most manifest.

Th e most visible level of state violence is what Aijmer calls the “ethological” and Godelier calls the “real.” Violence has very real biological and psychological eff ects upon its victims—suff ering, pain, injury, and death. Yet even this level must interact with the other two levels if violent acts are to attain their full ampli-tude of social meaning. It may not be suffi cient, for example, to kill one’s oppo-nent; it may be necessary to mutilate, to destroy, or to dispose of the body in such a way that the victim’s spirit not return to wreak vengeance on the perpetrator of the violence. As Aijmer puts it, while physical death may be irrevocable and non-negotiable, social death may not be.

Both Godelier and Aijmer posit the primacy of the imaginary, but the three levels are interconnected. It is possible for people to become aware of the iconic symbols that constitute their imaginary. It is possible for certain members within a collectivity, as with individuals in psychoanalysis, to have a “prise de conscience” in which the deeper levels of their socially shared fears and desires become manifest. When this happens, the iconic enters the realm of the symbolic and becomes susceptible to verbalization. Th e pre-discursive rises to the discur-sive. In like fashion, the process can be reversed. Discursive material that had once been verbalized in the form of ideological statements and narratives can become so habitual as to become virtually unconscious. What was once stated and debated becomes tacit and implicit, joining the ranks of other phenomena constituting the habitus or the “things that go without saying.”10 It is my conten-tion that many of the darkest “things that go without saying” receive expression during times of violence, as all curbs on transgression evaporate.

Violence Divined

At around 3 am on the morning of April 7, 1994, several hours aft er the downing of President Habyarimana’s plane,11 we heard the sound of gunfi re as the RGF attacked the RPF garrison in Kigali.12 Th e shaky truce that had endured for less than nine months was over—but this time, along with war came genocide. Some


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time later, Rwandan radio announced the president’s death and advised every-one to stay at home. Kigali’s neighborhoods turned into killing fi elds. For the next sixty hours, we remained ensconced in our house, and at times when the explosions seemed frighteningly near, we sheltered in the innermost corridor with mattresses on either side. Occasionally when there was a lull in the fi ghting, I ventured out onto our front porch to have a look. From there, I could see just above the courtyard wall and into the street. Every now and then, a loaded car or pickup truck raced by. At other times, I could make out the bobbing heads of looters carrying away booty on their heads, as people in the neighborhood were killed and their houses pillaged.

Following my evacuation and then my arrival in Nairobi, I began to visit Rwandan refugees housed at the Shauri-Moyo YMCA. From them, I learned about a diviner named Magayane, who two years earlier had predicted the geno-cide, the president’s death, and a number of other occurrences. Th ese predictions had been printed in one of Rwanda’s numerous cheap political magazines. One of Magayane’s predictions was that Habyarimana would be killed and that he would be the last of Rwanda’s Hutu kings. Th is was intriguing, because during the time of the monarchy (pre-1962), the king had always been Tutsi. Magayane’s predic-tion was thus suggestive of a Tutsi restoration.

Th e presentiment that Habyarimana would not live beyond March 1994 was stated more than once in the popular political literature of the time, and not just by the diviner Magayane. Here in Kangura, one of the more infamous and widely

Figure . In this political cartoon from Hutu extremist publication Kangura, Habyarimana is depicted as doing the bidding of RPF leader, Paul Kagame. Th e caption reads, “Tutsi ingratitude. Habyarimana will die in March 1004.”


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read Hutu extremists’ organs, Habyarimana’s death was predicted four months in advance. He was also depicted as doing the bidding of the RPF leader Paul Kagame. I was fi rst shown this cartoon (Figure 6.1) by a Hutu friend in January 1994. His comment was that there was more than a bit of truth to the idea that Habyarimana had become Kagame’s beast of burden. For many extremist foes of the Arusha accords, Habyarimana by early 1994 was no longer to be trusted as the champion of Hutu ethno-nationalism.

Kingship

About eighty popular journals, each with a distinct point of view, arose in the period between 1990 and 1994—quite extraordinary for a country with a popula-tion of about seven million. Some of these journals employed symbols of king-ship in their depictions of Habyarimana, but it was more oft en the case that Hutu extremist journalists explicitly accused the Rwandan Patriotic Front of wanting to restore the monarchy, its trappings, and its rituals. Hutu extremist journal-ists routinely referred to RPF members as “feudo-monarchists.” Several of their cartoons recall the former custom of emasculating slain enemies and then using these body parts to adorn the royal drum (see Figure 6.2).

In the cartoon from an extremist Hutu magazine, La Medaille-Nyiramacibiri, RPF soldiers are depicted crucifying, impaling, and castrating Melchior Ndadaye, neighboring Burundi’s fi rst democratically elected Hutu president. Elected in Octo-ber 1993, he was subsequently killed by Burundian army offi cers (all of whom were Tutsi) in an abortive coup attempt.13

Th is image condenses a great deal of violence at both the discursive and imaginary levels. At the discursive level, we see a clear iteration of the oft -repeated charge by Hutu extremists that the RPF were “feudo-monarchists” intent upon restoring kingship, the royal rituals, and the monarchy’s principal emblem—the drum named Karinga. Another ideological claim is advanced by depicting Hutu victims of the RPF as Christ-like martyrs, for Ndadaye is being crucifi ed. Beneath these claims, however, a subtler message is conveyed: one rooted in the social imaginary. By impaling Ndadaye, the RPF torturers are turning his body into an obstructed conduit and as such transforming his person into an inadequate, unworthy embodiment of imaana (the principle of life and fertility).14 In for-mer times, Rwandans killed cattle thieves in this manner.15 During the geno-cide, some victims were impaled from anus to mouth or from vagina to mouth. In fact, at one of Rwanda’s genocide memorials, one can view the remains of a Tutsi woman who was killed in that way. In the second cartoon, use of this cruel technique is foreshadowed. Moreover, specifi cally Rwandan symbols with deep historical roots have merged with those that are the more recent product of Christian evangelization.

Th e democratic Hutu opposition press also used sexual imagery in its attacks on Habyarimana and his allies. Another use of the castration image, for example, appears in Umurangi, a magazine that represented the point of view of


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the Mouvement Démocrate Republicain (MDR), a southern Hutu party. Here (Figure 6.3) a woman named Habimana, a close associate of Habyarimana’s and head of the Rwandan Offi ce Nationale de la Population, instructs a doctor with scissors to castrate each man standing in line. Mme. Habimana commands: “Castrate them in the name of the umwami w’akazu [i.e., Habyarimana, king of the akazu or “little house”—the small clique of people who were Habyarimana’s closest supporters and most favored clients]. He has his aim in mind. Don’t ask questions.” Th e doctor in the cartoon replies: “You don’t have to tell me about the [dangers of] inyenzi (RPF). Don’t we take money from the same project?”

The Imagining of Sexual Violence

In the months leading up to the genocide, violent sexual imagery depicting both males and females abounded in the iconography of Hutu extremist literature, while actual sexual violence against Tutsi women occurred with increasing fre-quency. Of course, as with many scapegoated groups, sexual violence against the

Figure . A civilian RPF supporter: “Kill this stupid Hutu and aft er you cut off his genitals, hang them on our drum.”


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group’s women increases during confl ict. Th is does not explain, however, why so much ambivalence and so much of the extremists’ energy was concentrated on Tutsi women. Th is was apparent in the popular press, as we shall see below in the infamous “Hutu Ten Commandments.”

Here we encounter one of the regime’s thorniest contradictions. Despite all measures to discourage the practice, it found that it could not keep Hutu men from being attracted to and occasionally establishing long-term sexual relationships with Tutsi women. Widely reputed by Europeans to be more beautiful than Hutu, Tutsi women were even held to be more attractive by many Hutu as well. I frequently heard statements to this eff ect in the 1980s, during my fi rst period of fi eldwork in Rwanda. It is also discussed by Liisa Malkki in her book about Burundian Hutu refugees.16 Two of the “mythico-histories” that she analyzes are entitled “Beautiful Tutsi Women as Bait into Servitude” and “Th e Death Trap of Tutsi Women’s Beauty.”17 Th e gist of these stories is that Tutsi use the beauty of their women to trick Hutu into marriage. Once ensnared, the unfortunate Hutu man is said to become the virtual slave of his wife’s Tutsi parents. It may be argued that beyond readily apparent and standard determinants of beauty, the question of beauty is a political one. Th e dominant standards of human beauty in any given social system, such an argument would assert, are the standards of the dominant class. Where the poor are emaciated, “Rubenesque” fl eshiness is likely to be perceived as beautiful. Where the poor are obese, slimness is likely to be perceived as desirable.

Figure . Published in the magazine Umurangi a woman named Habimana, a close associate of Habyarimana’s and head of the Rwandan Offi ce Nationale de la Population, instructs a doctor with scissors to castrate each man standing in line.


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Such an explanation seems dubious in the Rwandan context, where it was the women of the dominated group who were said to be more beautiful than those of the dominating group. Th e belief in the beauty of Tutsi women has a long prece-dent. Nineteenth-century European explorers, following the received wisdom of the Hamitic hypothesis, believed that the Tutsi were the descendants of Ham, one of Noah’s sons. Of supposed Middle Eastern origin, they were almost Caucasian rather than Negroid. Th erefore, the Tutsi were thought to have higher intelligence and greater physical beauty. G. Prunier cites Father van den Burgt’s comments on the Tutsi from Burgt’s French-Kirundi dictionary: “We can see Caucasian skulls and beautiful Greek profi les side by side with Semitic and even Jewish features, elegant golden-red beauties in the heart of Ruanda and Urundi.”18

Just as the “Black is beautiful” slogans of the 1960s in the United States may have failed to erase the profound and fearful self-doubt lurking in the minds of many black people, aft er centuries of intellectual and aesthetic disparagement, so it was with many of Rwanda’s Hutu. Th e Hutu Revolution of 1959–62 never directly addressed the psychic corollaries of Hamitism. Th e question of power, of who was to rule, may have been settled by that revolution, but little else. Th e premises of physical beauty, associated with European colonialism and pitting one group against the other, persisted in Rwanda and Burundi well aft er decolo-nization. In part this was reinforced by the fact that Europeans who entered into romantic involvements with Rwandan or Burundian women, or who married them, more frequently did so with Tutsi women. Th ere was certainly an impetus on the part of Tutsi women to establish such relationships. Marrying a European man usually meant a dramatic rise in the woman’s social and economic status, and carried with it a substantial measure of protection. Such a woman could more readily leave the country, and she could usually help other members of her family to do so as well. She was also in a better position to help them fi nancially. Th ese advantages were so compelling that it was not at all uncommon in pre-genocide Rwanda to see some of the most beautiful young Tutsi women married to European men more than twenty or thirty years their senior.

Unfortunately, because of their high visibility, such marriages contributed to the impression that the sexual and matrimonial destinies of beautiful Tutsi women were determined more by the laws of the marketplace than by Rwandan social norms. Th e marriages also incited resentment and jealousy among Hutu extremists. Some of the latter might have wished that Hutu women would also be chosen by Europeans; others might have resented the fact that the most beauti-ful Rwandan women oft en spurned marriage with Rwandan men and sought husbands from Europe or North America. In 1982–83, sentiments such as these had led to the imprisonment of scores of Tutsi women on charges ranging from “vagabondage” to prostitution. In the years shortly before the genocide, the image of the alluring Tutsi woman appeared once again. In extremist litera-ture, Hutu cartoonists depicted Tutsi women as prostitutes capable of enlisting Western support for the RPF cause through the use of their sexual charms. One cartoon (Figure 6.4) shows Canadian general Roméo Dallaire, the head of the United Nations peacekeeping force in Rwanda before and during the genocide,


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in an amorous embrace with two Tutsi women. Th e caption on the cartoon reads: “General Dallaire and his army have fallen into the trap of fatal women.”19

Another cartoon depicts three Belgian paratroopers in various sexual acts with two Tutsi women (Figure 6.5).20 Th is cartoon merits further comment. In 1983 and 1984, I had occasion to discuss the 1982–83 repression against young urban women consorting with European men. Many of my interlocu-tors expressed dismay that the Western press seldom printed anything at all about Rwanda, and when it did, as in 1983, it chose to cast the country in a bad light. One of them asked me how I expected Rwandan parents to raise morally upstanding daughters, if the children had the example before them of prostitutes grown rich from their escapades with European men. Another man expressed disgust at the type of sexual practices that he claimed were being transmitted to Rwandan women through contact with Europeans: notably, anal intercourse, cunnilingus, and fellatio. In this cartoon, not only are these acts pictured, but they are also being done in a group, compounding the violation of Rwandan sexual norms. Similar to food taboos, perceived diff erences in the sexual prac-tices between one group and another are important in delineating the boundar-ies between the groups. Sexual practices are also, of course, highly invested with emotion. In this cartoon, Hutu extremists are by implication distinguishing their own sexual practices, procreative and moral, from European and Tutsi practices, non-procreative and immoral.

Figure . In extremist literature, Hutu cartoonists depicted Tutsi women as prostitutes capable of enlisting Western support for the RPF cause through the use of their sexual charms. One cartoon shows Canadian General Roméo Dallaire, the head of the United Nations peacekeeping force in Rwanda before and during the genocide, in an amorous embrace with two Tutsi women. Th e caption on the cartoon reads: “General Dallaire and his army have fallen into the trap of fatal women.”


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Yet at the same time, Hutu extremists appear to be attempting to purge their ambivalence toward Tutsi women via symbolic violence, even as they project their own erotic fantasies upon them. On one level, they were certainly aware that to preserve the racial purity of Hutu, they had to categorically renounce Tutsi women as objects of desire. At the same time, they knew that they themselves were not free of the forbidden desire. Th ey were not impervious to the allure of Tutsi women, and indeed knew that many of the most prominent Hutu men had succumbed to the temptation. If the choice between Hutu and Tutsi women was non-problematic for Hutu extremists, narratives to the eff ect that Tutsi use the beauty of their women to ensnare Hutu men would be unnecessary. One can only speculate about the possible cognitive dissonances in the minds of many Hutu

Figure . Belgian paratroopers depicted with two Tutsi women.


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extremists where Tutsi women were concerned. What is most important for our purposes is that these sentiments received social expression.

For example, in December 1990, the Hutu extremist magazine Kangura printed what is perhaps the most succinct statement of Hutu extremist ideology: the infamous “Hutu Ten Commandments.” Although this document has been cited oft en and widely discussed by scholars who have written about the genocide, notably Prunier and Chrétien, no one has pointed out that gender preoccupations were very much on the minds of the extremists. Hutu extremists clearly accorded high priority to the question of relations between Hutu men and Tutsi women, for the fi rst three of the ten commandments concern this subject and this alone. Th ey read as follows:

1. Every Muhutu [Hutu male] should know that wherever he fi nds Umututsikazi [a female Tutsi], she is working for her Tutsi ethnic group. As a result, every Muhutu who marries a Mututsikazi, or who takes a Mututsikazi for a mistress or employs her as a secretary or a protégée, is a traitor.

2. Every Muhutu should know that our Bahutukazi [female Hutu] are more worthy of, and conscious of their roles as woman, spouse, and mother. Are they not pretty, good secretaries, and more honest!

3. Bahutukazi [Hutu women], be vigilant and bring your husbands, brothers, and sons back to the path of reason.21

Would it have been necessary to recall Hutu men to order in this way, if the women of the opponents’ group had not exerted such a compelling attraction? Why was it necessary for the extremists to assert that Hutu women are pretty, unless there were doubts to the contrary? Th e third commandment is also very telling: Hutu men cannot be expected to resist the attractions of Tutsi women alone; they need their Hutu wives, sisters, and mothers to call them back to reason!

Another commandment, the seventh, declares that the Rwandan Army must remain Hutu, but adds an additional warning against Tutsi women. Apparently, Hutu extremists were so preoccupied by this issue that no amount of redundancy or overemphasis could ever be deemed excessive.

7. Th e Rwandan Armed Forces must be exclusively Hutu. Th e experience of the October 1990 war teaches us this. No soldier should marry a Mututsikazi.22

Lurking beneath this ambivalence, one cannot help but sense imagery refl ecting the “Hamitic hypothesis”—a tragic yet unacknowledgeable conviction on the part of the extremists that when all was said and done, early Europeans had indeed been correct in depicting Tutsi as “golden-red beauties” and Hutu as inferior (and less attractive) Negroids. Th e “Hutu Ten Commandments” are not the only evidence of this type of sentiment. In June 1994, aft er months of inaction on the part of the United Nations and the international community, the French decided to intervene in Rwanda through “Operation Turquoise.” Too little, too late, the operation saved few threatened Tutsi and may have actually facilitated


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escape into Zaire for the beleaguered remnants of Rwandan Government Forces and their allied extremist militias. Perceived as “friends” by the latter, the Hutu extremist radio, Radio-Télévision Libre des Mille Collines (RTLM), called upon the population to welcome the French. Th eir appeal to young Hutu women was especially revealing: “You Hutu girls wash yourselves and put on a good dress to welcome our French allies. Th e Tutsi girls are all dead, so now you have your chance.”23 Th e beauty of Hutu women, it would seem, could only be expected to shine in the absence of competition from Tutsi women.

As Prunier points out in a footnote in his book,24 such evidence of a linger-ing inferiority complex may partly account for the degree of sadism unleashed by Hutu death squads against Tutsi. Indeed, special measures of terrorism were reserved for Tutsi women by the extremists. Many Tutsi women suff ered breast oblation, or were raped before being killed. Others, as noted, were impaled with spears from vagina to mouth. Many were forced to commit incest with a male family member before being killed. Pregnant women were oft en eviscerated. Still other Tutsi women were spared and taken as “wives” by their persecutors and brought into the refugee camps of eastern Zaire. Th ere they became sexual slaves to their captors. In the events that transpired in eastern Zaire during the last days of the Mobutu regime, some of these women managed to escape and to return to Rwanda, pregnant and seeking abortion in a country that prohibits it.

Th e Rwandan genocide cannot be understood solely in political or even eth-nic terms. Although recent contributions to the study of ethno-nationalism in Rwanda are obviously of great importance in comprehending this tragedy, they tend to accord little weight to what I have called the “social imaginary.” My con-tention here has been that one of the best ways for gaining access to this is to examine both verbal and nonverbal means of communication—text, certainly, but also cartoons and images—that appeared in Rwanda’s pre-genocidal media. When we look beneath the surface of ideology and the avowed intentions of social actors in the genocide, we uncover some of the deeper fears and desires of the génocidaires.

Contradictory in nature, these deeper fears and desires indicate a preoccu-pation with sex and gender. Fears of inadequacy in one form or another haunt the texts and the images. Would it have been necessary to remind Hutu extrem-ists of the beauty of their own women if the fear had not lurked somewhere in their minds that Tutsi were what nineteenth-century Europeans had said they were—more beautiful? Would it have been necessary to depict one’s enemies as castraters if one did not simultaneously fear them as sexual rivals and desire their castration? Gender concerns and sexual fears interacted in complex ways, extending to the demarcation of social boundaries and local notions of racial purity. Although these notions were ultimately of nineteenth-century European origin and were associated with the Hamitic hypothesis, they became internal-ized by many Rwandans and were later used ideologically by ethnic extremists in both Rwanda and Burundi. Many of the stereotypes of Tutsi women that one


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observes in pre-genocide Hutu extremist literature also owe their existence to preexisting Hamitic models.

Th e Rwandan genocide of 1994 diff ers from earlier incidents of massive vio-lence in the country’s history in that women were targets of violence much more than they had been in earlier incidents of ethnic strife there. Th is was especially true where Tutsi women were concerned, but it was not confi ned to them. Th e ethnic war in Rwanda’s media aimed at reasserting an imagined past condition of patriarchy as well as the perpetuation of Hutu dominance, but it could not do this without betraying its unmentionable fear—that perhaps Tutsi really were superior in both beauty and intelligence.

Envy, resentment, and humiliation are perhaps the most social of emotions, and when these emotions concern traits like intelligence and physical beauty, they are not easily expunged. One can seize wealth and power from those that one envies; but one cannot appropriate another’s intelligence and beauty. When Hutu took control of Rwanda in 1959, their revolution did nothing to reverse the ethnic stereotypes inherited from colonialism. Conceiving themselves as the oppressed made it easier for Hutu participants in the genocide to commit unspeakable crimes against their once real, now imagined oppressors.

Notes 1. Until 1960, Rwanda was ruled by a Tutsi king under the tutelage of the Belgian

colonial administration. Th e pastoralist Tutsi were a minority in Rwanda, composing about 15–20 percent of the population. Agricultural Hutu constituted about 80–85 percent. In addition, there was a third group called Twa who were potters or foragers, and who counted for about 1 percent or less of the total population. Tutsi held the overwhelming majority of posts in the indirect-rule state apparatus under the Belgians. In the 1950s, educated Hutu sought a greater role in the Rwandan government and became politically active and vocal. Th eir movement, aided by the Rwandan Catholic Church and later supported by the Belgian colonial administration, culminated in the replacement of Tutsi administrators with Hutu under Governor General Jean-Paul Harroy. Shortly thereaft er, the Tutsi king was overthrown along with the system of Tutsi dominance. Th e violence of this transition, between 1959 and 1964, claimed the lives of tens of thousands of Tutsi; many thousands more fl ed to neighboring African countries, creating a large diaspora. During the 1980s the sons and daughters of the original refugees sought to return to Rwanda. When their overtures to the Habyarimana government met with little substantive action in their favor, they decided to return to Rwanda by force. A group calling itself the Rwandan Patriotic Front, about 70 to 80 percent Tutsi in membership, invaded Rwanda from Uganda in October 1990. Peace accords ending this war were signed in Arusha, Tanzania, in August 1993 and gave the RPF most of what it had fought for. Implementing the accords, however, proved to be another matter. Hostilities between the two sides resumed on April 7, 1994, and resulted in an RPF victory by July 1994. In the intervening period, approximately one million Rwandans lost their lives—mostly Tutsi, although many Hutu opponents of the regime were also killed.

2. Th e democratization wave pushed by Western powers during the late 1980s and 1990s also touched Rwanda. Feeling that it would have to open its political system in order to continue receiving aid from Western donors, Rwanda allowed other political parties besides the ruling MRND (Mouvement Revolutionnaire pour le Développement et la


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Démocratie) to come into being, although most power continued to rest with the president. Many diff erent political parties quickly saw the light of day, but the principal ones besides the MRND were the Mouvement Democrate Republicain (MDR), the Parti Liberal (PL), and the Parti Social Democrate (PSD). In an eff ort to scramble the situation, the MRND also created other parties that were in eff ect clones of itself, such as the Parti Ecologiste. Th e CDR party, Coalition pour la Défense de la République, was an MRND splinter party that was more openly anti-Tutsi and anti-RPF than the MRND. Later in the 1990s, President Habyarimana and other Hutu extremists managed to split off anti-RPF factions from the MDR and the PL parties that became known as “Hutu Powa” (Hutu power) factions. Many later supporters of the genocide were recruited from the “Hutu Powa” groups.

3. See Dower, War without Mercy. 4. See Vansina, Le Rwanda ancien. 5. See Nahimana, Le Rwanda, emergence d’un état. During the pre- and early

colonial era, Rwanda was ruled by a Tutsi king. But because many Rwandan kings assumed this function at a tender age, in reality the king ruled in conjunction with a queen mother. Rwandan queen mothers were oft en politically prominent, prompting some early European explorers to speak of Rwanda as a territory ruled by a queen. One of the most famous queen mothers in Rwanda’s history was Rwabugiri’s favorite wife, Kanjogera. Aft er Rwabugiri’s death, Kanjogera managed to engineer a coup d’état at Rucunshu (ca. 1896) and put her own son, Musinga, on the throne in place of Rwabugiri’s personally designated successor. Biographical sketches of women whose lives straddled the pre- and early colonial period are also indicative that women’s lives did not improve under colonialism. See Codere, Th e Biography of an African Society.

6. Locally, the institution of keeping a mistress was referred to as “deuxieme bur-eau” or “second offi ce.”

7. Aijmer and Abbink, Meanings of Violence. 8. Godelier, L’énigme du don. 9. Wagner, Symbols Th at Stand for Th emselves.10. Bourdieu, Outline of a Th eory of Practice.11. According to most students of Rwandan politics and history, Habyarimana’s

plane was probably shot down by elements within his own coterie who were even more extreme in their anti-Tutsi racism. Th is seems likely. With the bulk of their forces concentrated in northern Rwanda, several days away from Kigali, it is unlikely that the RPF would have acted so brashly. As for the extremists, they could hope for an angry, generalized response by Hutu against Tutsi following Habyarimana’s death. Although many Hutu did not have such a response, due to the genocide’s careful planning and organization, probably somewhere between sixty and eighty percent of Rwanda’s resident Tutsi population died in about one hundred days.

12. As part of the Arusha accords, the RPF was allowed to station one battalion of its troops in Kigali in order to protect its political representatives. Although the fi rst violent incidents that followed the president’s assassination were against prominent Hutu opponents of the genocide and some individual Tutsi, the RPF garrison was attacked early on April 7, 1994. It then asked and received permission from the United Nations Mission to Rwanda to leave the confi nes of its garrison in order to defend itself.

13. Under the Habyarimana government, Tutsi were not allowed to serve in the military. Some Tutsi who had managed to fake Hutu ethnic identity, however, managed to enter the military. Most were later found out and purged during the 1980s.

Melchior Ndadaye was Burundi’s fi rst democratically elected president and its fi rst Hutu president. Elected in June 1993, Ndadaye was taken prisoner in late October and then


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executed (not by impalement) by Burundian Tutsi army offi cers in a coup attempt. Almost universally condemned by other nations, the coup eventually failed, but not before it had provoked reprisal killings in which thousands of Tutsi civilians died, as well as counter-reprisal violence in which thousands of Hutu were also killed. Th e coup and Ndadaye’s death served the cause of Hutu extremism in Rwanda quite well, and extremists lost no time in exploiting it. Unfortunately, the extremists’ point that the Tutsi could never be trusted as partners in a democracy gained enormous credibility in Rwanda in the wake of Ndadaye’s tragic death.

14. See Taylor, Milk, Honey, and Money.15. Taylor, Sacrifi ce as Terror, 136–40.16. Malkki, Purity and Exile.17. Ibid., 82–87.18. Prunier, Th e Rwanda Crisis, 9.19. Chrétien, Rwanda: Les médias du génocide, 274.20. Ibid., 366.21. Ibid., 141. My translation.22. Ibid., 142. My translation.23. Quoted in Prunier, Th e Rwanda Crisis, 292.24. Ibid.

Works CitedAijmer, Göran, and Jon Abbink, eds. Meanings of Violence. Oxford: Berg Press, 2000.Bourdieu, Pierre. Outline of a Th eory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University

Press, 1977.Chrétien, Jean-Pierre. Rwanda: Les médias du genocide. Paris: Karthala, 1995.Codere, Helen. Th e Biography of an African Society: Rwanda 1900–1960: Based on Forty-

Eight Rwandan Autobiographies. Tervuren: Musée royal de l’Afrique centrale, 1973.Dower, John W. War without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacifi c War. New York: Pantheon

Books, 1986.Godelier, Maurice. L’énigme du don. Paris: Fayard, 1996.Malkki, Liisa. Purity and Exile. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995.Nahimana, Ferdinand. Le Rwanda, emergence d’un etat. Paris: L’Harmattan, 1993.Taylor, Christopher C. Milk, Honey, and Money: Changing Concepts in Rwandan Healing.

Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1992. . Sacrifi ce as Terror: Th e Rwandan Genocide of 1994. Oxford: Berg Press, 1999.Vansina, Jan. Le Rwanda ancien: le royaume nyiginya. Paris: Karthala, 2001.Wagner, Roy. Symbols Th at Stand for Th emselves. Chicago: University of Chicago Press,

1986.


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Genocide, Humiliation, and InferiorityAn Interdisciplinary Perspective

EVELIN G. LINDNER

This chapter argues that the root of gen ocides does not lie in ethnic fault lines, dwindling resources, “rational” confl icts of interest, or any general “evil” of human nature or modernity, but rather in complex psychologi-

cal mindsets and behavioral clusters that exhibit their own homicidal—and also oft en suicidal—”rationality.” History off ers many examples of ethnic diversity having stimulating and enriching eff ects; dwindling resources may inspire coop-eration and innovation; and “rational” confl icts can be solved by mutually ben-efi cial negotiation. However, all these contexts may turn sour, acquire a greater emotional intensity, and become essentialized because of another, underlying dynamic: that of humiliation.

Humiliation is related in complex ways to shame, scapegoating, and the depiction of other humans as “beyond the pale.” Genocide may involve acts of humiliation carried out in response to fear of humiliation—more precisely, to fear of future humiliation, based on an experience of past humiliations and habitual submission. In part for this reason, genocidal perpetrators are not always drawn from long-established elites. Rather, they are oft en recently risen subaltern actors, caught in a complex web of elements sometimes labeled as an “inferiority complex.” Th ey may be consumed by feelings of shame, along with a lingering admiration for the targets of the genocide. Th ese dynamics are relevant not only for the study of genocide (especially subaltern genocide), but also for terrorism worldwide. Th ey represent an important fi eld of inquiry for all students of human security.

At the outset, we need to raise a number of puzzling questions and observa-tions. For example: What is genocide? We oft en conceive of the phenomenon as an atrocity in which a powerful group selectively targets a less powerful group (characterized by ethnic or other markers), and we view this as refl ecting either “rational” self-interest or “irrational” evil. Strikingly, however, almost every aspect of this framework is open to question. Consider the fact that genocide oft en seems to be less about “mere” killing and more about humiliating the tar-geted victims. Victims oft en are killed only aft er elaborate humiliation rituals; they are not slaughtered as honorable “enemies,” but are dehumanized, degraded

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to the level of “pollution,” “rats,” or (as in Rwanda) inyenzi, “cockroaches.” Is it conceivable, then, that genocide is more about humiliation than about actual kill-ing? Perhaps killing is part of the humiliation process, rather than vice-versa?

Th e assumption that genocide’s victims belong to a less powerful group also needs to be destabilized. Is it not curious that minorities such as the Isaaq in Somalia, Tutsi in Rwanda, or Jews in Nazi Germany, even when they were objec-tively rather subdued and politically marginalized, still seemed so threatening to genocidal perpetrators that exterminating them seemed the only “solution”? Why was it not suffi cient simply to marginalize them? Why did the perpetrators feel a need to go to elaborate lengths to “send messages” to the victims—messages, that is, of humiliation? Does a simple scapegoat explanation suffi ce?

We should look more closely, as well, at the element of confl icts of interest over dwindling resources, with genocide posited as the outcome of rational, self-interested calculations. In both African cases that this author has studied in depth, namely Somalia (a quasi- or proto-genocide in 1988) and Rwanda (full-scale genocide in 1994), the countries in question were regarded as beacons of develop-ment until shortly before the genocides occurred. International experts fl ocked to them and sang their praises. Both countries had every reason to continue along their existing path and to work to resolve resource confl icts in constructive ways. Most observers probably would have placed Somalia and Rwanda far down the list of African countries most likely to suff er genocides.

Furthermore, the rational self-interest of the perpetrators was typically undermined—not bolstered—by the genocides that ensued. Many perpetrators of genocides have ended up much worse off than they were prior to the genocide. In several instances, genocide can even be considered a suicidal strategy for its instigators. To the outside observer, apart from being immoral, genocide oft en seems self-defeating.

As for ethnic markers, in pre-Nazi Germany, Jews were much more inte-grated than they were in Eastern Europe. Somalia, likewise, constitutes the most ethnically homogenous country in Africa (a single ethnic background; a unifying language and religion). In Rwanda, too, historical-anthropological analysis turns up more in the way of ethnic similarity than the ethnic diff erences that were accentuated by colonial rulers to buttress their dominance. Other countries in Africa are much more fragmented than Somalia and Rwanda.

Does this mean, then, that homo sapiens is hopelessly evil by nature, imbued with destructive instincts that regularly burst through the thin veneer of civiliza-tion? Or is it, in fact, the other way round? Are humans peaceable by nature, and corrupted by a modernity that spurs them to mayhem?

Th is chapter argues that the dichotomy of human “nature” versus “culture” is misleading. Human nature is neither savage nor noble, because human nature is culture. And culture is not an automaton. It mediates the environment that humans inhabit in a variety of ways, both driving emotions and being driven by them. Humiliation is perhaps the strongest force in this dynamic. Feelings of humiliation, and fear of humiliation, are “the nuclear bomb of the emotions.” As with other emotions, humiliation is a historical-cultural-social-emotional

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construct: one that changes over time, wields considerable force, and can be directed to destructive ends.

I begin by sketching the background of research on humiliation. I then take a step back and examine the human condition through a historical lens, discussing the transition in human aff airs from societies based on “ranked honor” to those proclaiming an “equal dignity,” and the relevance of this framing for genocide studies. I then turn to consider genocide, and subaltern genocide specifi cally. How does humiliation lend its own “rationality” to genocide? How does geno-cidal “cleansing” represent a ghastly means of purging feelings of inferiority and shame, derived from concepts of elite admiration?

The Background of Humiliation Research

My scholarly research has focused on the phenomenon of humiliation for the past decade. A doctoral project explored “Th e Feeling of Being Humiliated: A Central Th eme in Armed Confl icts,” focusing on the African cases of Somalia and Rwanda and the European case of Germany.1 Th ese investigations included 216 qualitative interviews in the three countries, focusing on their history of genocidal killing. Th ese interviews, some of them fi lmed, were carried out in Africa and Europe in 1998–99.

As the title of the project indicates, I focused on confl ictive parties in Somalia and Rwanda and on those who sought to intervene. Th e results confi rmed my hypothesis that, indeed, humiliation played a key role in war and genocide—not only in the distant past, but at present. In all cases, a fear of imagined future destitution, and of humiliating subjugation at another’s hands, fi gured as a core justifi cation for genocidal killing. In the German case, this fear took the form of a future Weltherrschaft des Judentums—a world dominated by Jews. In Rwanda, the fear was of democratic power-sharing with Tutsi, interpreted as meaning a return to Tutsi domination. Somalia’s future was also regarded as threatened by the “arrogant” Isaaq tribe.2

Since the conclusion of doctoral studies in 2001, my research has expanded to include other cases in Europe, Southeast Asia, and the United States. I seek to construct a theory of humiliation that is transdisciplinary in nature, drawing on anthropology, history, social philosophy, social psychology, sociology, and politi-cal science.3 I see humiliation not as an ahistorical phenomenon rooted in human “nature,” but as a historical, cultural, social, and emotional construct that changes over time. I contend that present generations occupy a transitional world-his-torical juncture, between an “honor world” grounded in conceptions of ranked honor (with a concomitant experience of honor-humiliation) and a future world of equal dignity (with a quite distinct experience of dignity-humiliation).

In traditional hierarchical societies, elites were socialized to translate feelings of humiliation into an urge to react violently. Th ey defended their honor against humiliation—whether with a sword, in duel-like confl icts, or in duel-like wars employing increasingly lethal weaponry. Subaltern actors, namely women and

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male underlings, were expected to accept their subjugation humbly, subservi-ently, and obediently, without invoking or expressing feelings of humiliation. Th is conceptualization fi rst arose around ten thousand years ago, when hierarchical societal systems emerged alongside complex agricultural societies.4 Until recently, such hierarchical societal systems were regarded as legitimate, even divinely ordained. Even today, in many parts of the world, populations still subscribe to these concepts.

Humiliation in general can be described in a threefold sense, pointing simul-taneously to an act, a feeling, and a process. Humiliation means the enforced lowering of a person or group: a process of subjugation that damages or strips away pride, honor, and dignity. To be humiliated is to be placed, against one’s will (or occasionally by consent—for example, in cases of religious self-abnega-tion or sadomasochism), and oft en in a deeply hurtful way, in a situation that is markedly at odds with one’s sense of entitlement. Humiliation may involve acts of force, including violence. At its heart is the idea of pinning or putting down, of holding to the ground. Indeed, one of the defi ning characteristics of the process of humiliation is forcing the victim into passivity—a state of being acted upon and made helpless.

People react in diff erent ways when they feel unduly humiliated. Some simply become depressed: anger turned inward against oneself. Others become enraged; still others hide their anger and carefully plot revenge. Th e person motivated by revenge may rise to become leader of a movement that instigates mass vio-lence—by forging narratives of humiliation, and inviting the masses to invest their grievances in those narratives. Feelings of humiliation and fear of humiliation, if instigated and harnessed in malign ways by “humiliation entrepreneurs,” may fuel mass atrocities in an enormously powerful and highly effi cient manner.

Th e most potent weapon of mass destruction is thus the humiliated mind (whether the feeling of humiliation preexists or is manipulated). Th at mind may be ready to transgress all “normal” calculations of self-interest in response. A relatively small number of people so inclined can humble large armies—not least because cycles of humiliation, if kept in motion, may preempt the need for sophisticated weapons. In Rwanda, household tools such as machetes oft en suf-fi ced; many victims paid to be shot instead of hacked to death. (In part, this was viewed as a more “honorable,” less humiliating death.) Note also that the destruc-tion of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, was achieved without access to high-tech bombs or missiles. Modern technology may thus serve as a magnifi er of the humiliated mind—as in the Nazi Holocaust, where it enabled mass killing on an industrial scale.

Many elements of this equation merit attention I must unfortunately deny them here, for space reasons. To take one example: What is the diff erence between a humiliation felt “innately” and such a feeling when culturally prescribed or instigated by means of propaganda? If humiliation is felt at the individual level, how is it transmitted to the group, if indeed it is?5

Relatively few researchers have studied humiliation directly and explicitly. Among the few exceptions are Donald C. Klein, and Linda M. Hartling and Tracy


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Luchetta.6Many scholars, for instance, fail to diff erentiate humiliation from other concepts. Humiliation and shame are oft en deployed interchangeably.7Donald L. Nathanson describes humiliation as a combination of three innate aff ects out of nine altogether: namely, as a combination of shame, disgust, and dissmell [sic].8

My own work addresses humiliation in its own right, not simply as a sub-variant of shame. Shame carries a host of prosocial connotations. People who are “shameless,” for example, are not seen as fi t for constructive coexistence.9 Shame is an emotional state that is only salient when we accept it—however painfully. Humiliation, on the other hand, is an assault that we typically seek to repulse and which enrages us. Th us, in my conceptualization, Hitler managed to transform feelings of shame into feelings of humiliation among the German population. In interviews with Germans, Stephan Marks and Heidi Mönnich-Marks asked sub-jects about their motives for supporting Hitler.10 One interviewee, born in 1917, described the hard, boring life in his village, and how Hitler’s vision had lift ed him out of his lowly condition. Hitler, he reported, showed him that his lowliness was not a shame to be accepted, but a humiliation to be rejected and fought.11

Th e view that humiliation may be a particularly powerful force is supported by the research of Th omas J. Scheff and Suzanne Retzinger, who studied shame and humiliation in marital quarrels.12 Th ey demonstrated that the bitterest divi-sions and suff ering have their roots in feelings of humiliation and shame. Jan Smedslund developed the concept of “psychologic,” which included emotions of anger, forgiveness, and humiliation.13 William Vogel and Aaron Lazare likewise document humiliation as a serious obstacle in the treatment and counseling of couples.14 In his recent book, On Apology, Lazare writes: “I believe that humili-ation is one of the most important emotions we must understand and manage, both in ourselves and in others, and on an individual and national level.”15 His claim is supported by Robert Jay Lift on16 and Jessica Stern.17 Robert L. Hale ex-plored the subject in his book Th e Role of Humiliation and Embarrassment in Serial Murder.18 Humiliation has also been studied in fi elds as diverse as love, sex, and social attractiveness; depression, society and identity formation; sports, history, literature, and fi lm.

Of particular interest here is Scheff and Retzinger’s extension of their work on violence and the Holocaust,19 which examined the role of “humiliated fury”—a term coined by Helen Block Lewis20—in escalating confl icts between individu-als and nations.21 Vamik Volkan, Joseph V. Montville, and colleagues carried out important psychopolitical research on intergroup confl ict and its traumatic eff ects.22 In his book Blind Trust, Volkan argues that a trauma experienced as humiliating is not adequately mourned, leading to a desire for revenge and, under the pressure of fear/anxiety, to collective regression.23

In the realm of psychology, sociology, and trauma, Ervin Staub’s work con-tinues to be highly signifi cant.24 Staub makes the point that bystanders need to stand up—and not stand by—when humiliation is perpetrated on their neigh-bors. Avishai Margalit, for his part, argues that we must not only oppose indi-vidual acts of humiliation, but build societal institutions that do not humiliate their citizens.25 Notions of honor and humiliation are addressed by Richard E.

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Nisbett and Dov Cohen, who examine the particular form of honor operative in traditional branches of the Mafi a and, more generally, in blood feuds.26 Bertram Wyatt-Brown has studied the history of concepts of honor in the American South,27 while William Ian Miller’s book Humiliation and Other Essays on Honor, Social Discomfort, and Violence links humiliation to honor as it is understood in historical and literary classics like Th e Iliad and Icelandic sagas.28 One should also note the research on mobbing and bullying, which touches on the phenomenon of humiliation, and on trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

With these framings in mind, let us consider humiliation in historical con-text, with reference to the transition from ranked honor to equal dignity, or from honor-humiliation societies to dignity-humiliation societies.

The Historic Transition from Ranked Honor to Equal Dignity

According to William Ury, most of human history passed relatively peacefully, with small bands of hunter-gatherers cooperating in noticeably egalitarian soci-etal structures, amidst abundant resources. By roughly ten thousand years ago, homo sapiens had populated the entire globe—at least its more easily accessible regions—and uninhabited land became scarce. No longer could people just wan-der off to the next virgin valley; it was likely to be populated already (the anthro-pological term is circumscription). Increasingly, people had to stay in place, become more sedentary, and make do with the resources immediately available, primarily through a process of agricultural intensifi cation.

Agriculture introduced a profoundly new way of life: much more malign than previously, because land belongs either to oneself or to another. Th is win-lose logic, in turn, fuels war. International relations theory uses concepts like the “security dilemma” to describe how arms races and war were all but inevitable in this atmosphere of fear of attack from outside one’s community.29 In response to these novel circumstances, hierarchical societies evolved, with masters at the top and lesser beings at the bottom. Human worthiness became ranked, with diff er-ent degrees of honor attached to each stratum.

Very recently, however—just a few hundred years ago—humankind faced a second deep transition, as profound as the one that occurred millennia ago. Technological innovations allowed humans to relate to their home, the planet Earth, in new ways. Increasingly, knowledge and not land is the essential resource for sustainable livelihoods. Ury suggests that humankind is on the verge of creat-ing a global knowledge society—”for the fi rst time since the origin of our spe-cies, humanity is in touch with itself ”30—thus returning to the win-win frame of the hunter-gatherers (since knowledge, unlike land, is an expandable resource). Human beings may thereby regain the potential for relatively peaceful and egali-tarian societal structures.

Some of the predicted changes may already be seen in the growing acceptance of human-rights ideals, which have wrought a profound shift in the hierarchical


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order. In the course of this process, the notion of humiliation has changed its point of attachment. Th e change is marked by the emergence of the modern meaning of the word “humiliation.” William Ian Miller informs us that “the earliest recorded use of to humiliate, meaning to mortify or to lower or to depress the dignity or self-respect of someone, does not occur until 1757.”31 Under this new framework, the downtrodden and the subaltern gains the right to feel humiliated. Humiliation moves from being the privilege of the elite to becoming the right of the disadvantaged at the bottom of the ladder. Subaltern actors around the world today are socialized to feel humiliated by their lowliness—now defi ned as an illegitimate aff ront to their dignity rather than a legitimate humbling. Th e elites, by contrast, are called on to regain humility and are no longer permitted to resist such demands by labeling them as humiliating.

Th e human rights revolution could be described as an attempt to collapse the master-slave dynamic of the past ten thousand years to a midpoint of equal dignity and humility (see Figure 7.1).

Th e following section investigates the relevance of this historic transforma-tion for the study of genocide, including subaltern genocide.

Genocide and the Historic Transition

In periods of transition, trends and tendencies are typically blurred and indis-tinct. So it is with the transition now underway from the traditional paradigm of ranked honor to a novel paradigm of equal dignity. Th erefore, when we speak of “human rights based societies” in this discussion, we do so in the spirit of a Weberian ideal-type approach.32 Perhaps genuinely human-rights based societies will emerge in a century or two. So far, we see only seedlings—but growths that nonetheless merit attention.

Figure . Th e Historic Transition to Equal Dignity

Top of the scale

Master in the old honor order(arrogation)

Line of pristine pride and equal dignity

New human rights order of humility

(humiliation)Underling/ in the old honor order

Bottom of the scale

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An important trend is that the more that concepts of human rights permeate a society, the more humiliation becomes hurtful; the more important it becomes as a topic for research; and the more relevance it gains for policy planning. Th is is because the four basic kinds of subjugation known to honor cultures become con-fl ated in a single kind of humiliation when viewed through a human rights lens.

Subjugation in honor societies can be categorized in four variants.33 A mas-ter uses conquest subjugation to drive formerly equal neighbors into a position of inferiority. When the hierarchy is established, the master uses reinforcement subjugation to keep it in place. Th is may range from rituals such as seating orders and bowing rules, to brutal measures such as customary beatings and killings. A third form of humiliation, relegation subjugation, is used to push an already subaltern individual still further down. Exclusion subjugation anathematizes its targets altogether—by exiling or even killing them.

In honor societies, all these variants are regarded as legitimate tools. Th e hint of violation that the word “humiliation” carries in contemporary parlance is present solely in relationships among equal aristocrats, not in the attempt to subjugate subaltern others. Attempting to debase others is always legitimate in a ranked society, which dictates that “might is right.” Equals, however, will oft en oppose such debasement—we may label it “honor-humiliation”—and respond, for instance, by a challenge to a duel.

Human rights frameworks turn all four types of subjugation into utterly ille-gitimate exclusion humiliation. Attempts at subjugation of whatever kind are now regarded as a human-rights violation that excludes the victims from humanity. Th is situation produces intense pain and suff ering, because losing one’s dignity means being excluded from the human family altogether. In the absence of moderating forces—a Nelson Mandela, for example (see the conclusion to this chapter)—this pain may provoke violence, up to and including terrorism and genocide. Table 7.1 seeks to summarize this argument and to explore its relevance to genocide.

As sketched in Table 7.1, the more societies are infl uenced by ideals of human rights, the more salient feelings of humiliation become—in a threefold fashion. First, subalterns feel more humiliated in a system where elites are no longer accepted as benevolent patrons, but come to be viewed as evil oppressors. Second, feelings of inferiority may provoke feelings of shame at such inferiority. Th ird, sub-alterns may feel retrospective shame—that is, shame that they ever admired elites and bowed before them. All three elements may be translated, in the absence of countervailing infl uences, into an urge to purge and “cleanse” shame and humilia-tion, along with the people who are seen as triggering these emotions.

Rwanda and Nazi Germany

Rwanda provides an excellent example of this dynamic in action. My research there made it clear that the country does not agree on its history. Rather, it has two core historical narratives. My friends of Tutsi background tended to empha-size the ethnic homogeneity of all Rwandans, the benevolent patronage of their


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Table 7.1 The Historic Transition of Human History and Its Relevance for Genocide

Prior to 10,000 years ago: Pristine, egalitarian hunter-gathering context

During the past 10,000 years: Agricultural context of ranked honor

Vision for the future: Global knowledge society with equal dignity for every global citizen

Dissatisfi ed members of a group had the option to wander off and fi nd unoccupied land with abundant resources, while maintaining egalitarian societal structures.

Since unoccupied land was no longer easily accessible, the option of wandering was foreclosed. Th e remaining options were acquiescence to a master’s domination, or attempting to replace the master. Dissatisfi ed masters, for their part, could force subaltern actors into alterna-tive societal structures, and conquer neighboring groups.

Human rights frameworks call on societies to transform themselves in order to provide adequate subsistence to all citizens, so that they may enjoy equal rights and dignity. Humankind is depicted as a single family of equals. Th e traditional system of ranked honor is delegitimized.

Th ere is no archaeological evidence that systematic genocidal killing occurred prior to ten thousand years ago.*

Th ere is ample archeological evidence of systematic war during the past ten thousand years, much of it taking the form of conquest of neighboring territory. Masters reinforced their domination of subaltern actors, but usually without excluding them entirely—e.g., to retain them as part of a workforce. Subalterns who suc-ceeded in replacing masters tended to adopt their ways. In sum, conquest and oppression, though oft en very brutal, were less systematic and fanatical than the term “genocide” normally implies.

1. Human rights transform the lowly position of subalterns into utterly illegitimate exclusion humiliation; the resulting “nuclear bomb of the emotions” may be translated into genocide.

2. Subalterns (former or present) may feel inferiority to masters asshameful, as something to be “cleansed” through killing and genocide.

In sum, the delegitimization of tradi-tional rank transforms old emotional scripts of submission into new shame-ful scripts of humiliation. Formerly obedient underlings become angry victims of humiliation. Strong feelings of humiliation may be translated into a call for genocide as a “cleansing act.”

Options for dissatisfi ed members of a group

Relevance for genocide

* See, for example, Haas, Warfare and the Evolution of Culture, 8; Ury, Getting to Peace, 35.

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Tutsi forefathers over the centuries, and how happily Hutu clients accepted such patronage. Friends with a Hutu background, in contrast, have a tendency to deemphasize ethnic homogeneity and deny that their forefathers ever acquiesced to Tutsi domination—which, they suggest, was not benevolent at all.

Th ere might be a problem with both these views: one that helps to explain a genocidal outcome. Perhaps both perspectives are correct, at least in part. Might Tutsi rule in the past have been less benevolent than today’s defenders wish to portray it? Might Hutu have acquiesced, even admired their patrons/oppressors more than they later chose to admit? Tutsi women, for example, were still highly sought-aft er trophies for wealthy Hutu men (see Taylor’s chapter in this volume). In fi eld research in 1999, I frequently heard it said that a Hutu man who gets rich “buys a house, gets a Mercedes, and marries a Tutsi woman.”34 In other words, a degree of habitual Hutu admiration for Tutsi superiority lived on aft er the Tutsi had been deposed from formal power, suggesting that voluntary submission to, and admiration for, a Tutsi elite might well have existed earlier as well.

Why was the Hutu revolution of 1959, which overturned the traditional eth-nic order, not suffi cient to transform the Hutu-Tutsi relationship at an existential level? How could the enthusiastic sense of liberation and dignifi cation among Hutu aft er the revolution of 1959, which deposed the Tutsi rule in favor of the majority population, be transformed into one of the most extreme genocides on the historical record?

As noted above, many genocidal perpetrators have ended up worse off than they were prior to the genocide. To the outside observer, viewed through a lens of self-interest, genocide—apart from being morally repugnant—hardly seems worth the eff ort. Hitler brought ruin not only upon the world, but upon his own followers and himself. He led an entire society into the abyss, as if this had been his aim. Many Hutu génocidaires live miserable lives today. Somalian dictator Siad Barre died in exile—hated, not venerated, in his own country.

Yet Hitler, in taking his own life, declared himself satisfi ed. Eberhard Jäckel reports Hitler’s last words, on April 2, 1945: “Th e world will be eternally grateful to National Socialism that I have extinguished the Jews in Germany and Central Europe.”35 In other words, it seems Hitler’s “gain” was a glory lying somewhere beyond this Earth and beyond physical death. His and his followers’ physical preservation on Earth was not necessarily the desired endpoint of his calculus. Th e “proud and dignifi ed Germany” he sought to build might not take a physical form, but could receive its validation from die Vorsehung (providence), where humiliation and its redress would be recognized as meritorious.

Moreover, Hitler is said to have expressed satisfaction at the destruction of Germany in the war’s later stages, because he judged that “his” Germans had failed him and did not deserve to survive. For Hitler, by being destroyed das Deutsche Vaterland got what it deserved for failing to heed and implement his vision. Aft er all, as Hitler explained in detail in his book Mein Kampf, the German father-land had neglected, overlooked, and humiliated the German minority in Austria (where Hitler was born and grew up). Th e elite of the German fatherland had miserably failed in World War I through unintelligent strategies, thus bringing


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humiliation upon their entire people. In addition, Germany (and also England, in Hitler’s view) was insuffi ciently alert to the supposed “threat” posed by Jewish world domination and world humiliation. In Hitler’s mind, he had tried to teach Germans nobility and grandeur—but in vain. Now Germans were reaping what they had sowed: downfall. Hitler’s twofold satisfaction could be formulated as him having saved German greatness and protected the world against future humiliation—even if this would be recognized only in the aft erlife, and even if everyone else had failed him, including his own people.

We may hypothesize, then, that humiliation—as both act and feeling—is so powerful that it overrides calculations of earthly well-being. It may transform what is regarded as “rational” self-interest (before death) into redress of humilia-tion and protection against future humiliation, as a quasi-religious achievement (realized only aft er death). Th e “nuclear bomb of the emotions” may encourage adoption of extreme strategies that pursue a mystical transcendence, and which hamper pragmatic, “here-and-now” solutions. Dynamics of humiliation may thus be as potent and consuming as any addiction: “getting the fi x” of redress for humiliation may override all other rationales.

Genocide as a “Cleansing” of the Inferiority Complex

Are not genocide’s victims usually members of subaltern minorities? But if so, why are resources mobilized to humiliate and kill people who are already subor-dinate or powerless? Would not continued marginalization be more “effi cient”? What turns powerless people into such a threat? In Rwanda, Somalia, and Germany, the elite would surely have gained more by incorporating the minority that they feared (whether Isaaqs, Tutsi, or Jews). Instead, they ascribed preposterous pow-ers and abilities to the minority—namely, its ability to dominate and subjugate the rest—and surprisingly low abilities to themselves, namely their inability to integrate this minority peacefully. Why so little self-confi dence?

What we observe here seems to have its roots in the dynamic known as the inferiority complex. In psychology, the term is connected with the Viennese psy-chiatrist Alfred Adler (1870–1937). Th omas J. Scheff explains that “the concept of an inferiority complex can be seen as a formulation about chronic low self-esteem, i.e., chronic shame.”36

Consider, in this context, the situation in Somalia under President Mohammed Siad Barre. Siad Barre initially gave people new hope. He condemned tribalism and clannism. He seemed to stand for a government that would attend to all Somalis’ needs, not those of one clan alone. At least this was his rhetoric; perhaps, at the outset, it was also his conviction. He developed the economy and gave Somalis some years of relative peace.

Th en Siad Barre set out to fulfi ll Somalia’s great dream of unifi cation. In 1978, he invaded Ethiopia to capture the Ogaden territory and bring the ethni-cally Somali Ogaden “home” to Greater Somalia. Somalia’s defeat in this con-fl ict constituted a devastating humiliation. Siad Barre, however, survived the

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humiliation by locating scapegoats. He targeted his fellow countrymen from the north, accusing them of having caused the defeat. Th e fi rst objects of his campaign were the Majerteen, whose villages and wells he destroyed; later he turned on the Isaaq people.

In January 1986, the Morgan Report was issued, the work of General Mohammed Sidi Hersi “Morgan,” Siad Barre’s son-in-law of Majerteen back-ground. Offi cially it was a top secret report on “implemented and recommended measures” for a “fi nal solution” to Somalia’s “Isaaq problem.” Morgan writes that the Isaaq and their supporters must be “subjected to a campaign of obliteration” in order to prevent them “rais[ing] their heads again.” He continued: “Today, we possess the right remedy for the virus in the [body of the] Somali State.” Among the “remedies” he proposed: “Rendering uninhabitable the territory between the army and the enemy, which can be done by destroying the water tanks and the villages lying across the territory used by them for infi ltration”; and “remov-ing from the membership of the armed forces and the civil service all those who are open to suspicion of aiding the enemy—especially those holding sensitive posts.” (A worn copy of this report, in English, was shown to me in Hargeisa in November 1998.)

Why did Siad Barre choose fi rst the Majerteen and then the Isaaq as scape-goats? Not because they were easy targets. On the contrary, they were among the most challenging targets possible (and he paid the price: the Isaaq-dominated Somali National Movement [SNM] was among the leading forces that eventually toppled Siad Barre in 1991).

During colonial times, prior to independence in 1960, the north of Somalia had been the “British Protectorate of Somaliland,” while the rest of present-day Somalia was under Italian rule. Th rough their traditional occupation as trad-ers, northern Somalis had acquired greater managerial skills than southerners and had learned English under their colonial masters—internationally more use-ful than Italian aft er independence was achieved. Siad Barre, an autodidact like Hitler (intelligent, but lacking formal education), hailed from the formerly Italian south—the part of Somalia that was surpassed in education and effi ciency by the northerners. One Isaaq woman reported to me during fi eldwork in 1998 that she had met the dictator to plead for her imprisoned family members. “You Isaaq, you are so arrogant,” Siad Barre allegedly told her. It confi rmed her belief that the dictator may have suff ered personal humiliation at the hands of Isaaq colleagues more educated than he was.

By choosing not weak scapegoats but strong ones, Siad Barre turned scape-goating into a double victory for himself, at least in the short term. First, he sur-vived politically, by pointing the fi nger at others for Somalia’s disastrous defeat in the Ogaden war. Second, he settled a score—his feelings of humiliation at the hands of the scapegoats.

From the genocide in Cambodia, to Rwanda and Germany, and in innumer-able other cases, it is the skilled, the intellectuals, the knowledge carriers who are the fi rst to be exterminated, by those who thereby cleanse themselves of feel-ings of inferiority and triumph over past humiliations. Th us, the commonly used


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term “ethnic cleansing” may refer to more than the expulsion or eradication of another ethnic group. It may refl ect subalterns’ need to purge and eradicate their own unacceptable feelings of humiliation and shame.

Genocide as the “Cleansing” of Shame over Elite Admiration

Th is chapter took as its starting point genocide’s many perplexing characteristics. One question raised was if genocide is about killing, why are so many victims not only killed, but elaborately humiliated before death? Genocide seems to be about humiliating the personal dignity of the victims, depicting a group as “sub-human,” then reducing them to that level. Th e Rwandan genocide of 1994 off ers an intricate and gruesome catalogue of practices aimed at destroying victims’ dignity. Th e most literal way to achieve this was to cut short the legs of Tutsi (whose “superiority” was symbolized by their height, on average greater than that of Hutu), or to sever their Achilles tendons so they would be forced to crawl. Th ese actions not only shortened Tutsi bodies, but “cut them down to size” in a metaphorical sense, obliterating the source of their alleged arrogance.

Th e driving force behind these actions may be what I term elite admira-tion. In Mein Kampf, Hitler describes at length the Austrian political personali-ties whom he most admired—many of them Jews.37 Reading his text, it becomes obvious to the reader that he once admired Jews, even if only early in life. Later, Hitler attempted to expunge every trace of Jews—along, perhaps, with his admi-ration for them. Cognizant of their talents and aptitudes, he was convinced that they had the capacity to dominate the world if he did not prevent them from doing so. His fear of this “global elite” and his desire to exterminate them were founded at least in part on admiration of their competence.

Elite admiration and imitation is deeply inscribed in the culture of rank that has dominated the world for the past ten thousand years. It has been taught to, and learned by, subaltern actors through the millennia. Imitating masters was one way that subalterns could ascend in rank (another way was to replace their masters in uprisings). Still today, despite the fact that these mindsets are losing their structural underpinnings, elite admiration and imitation are widespread. Modern celebrity culture attests to this. Th e most recent “high culture,” that of the French court of Versailles, was not only imitated throughout Europe and its colonies, but is today imitated in the French-castle style adopted for millionaires’ mansions in Texas, or the dwellings of the newly rich in contemporary China.

At fi rst glance, such imitation seems to be a quite innocent phenomenon. But it is oft en dysfunctional and highly inappropriate to the environment to which it is transposed. Th e urge for imitation, moreover, is oft en so strong that even disability and self-mutilation may be accepted as consequences. Chinese foot-binding, for example, began as a “luxury” among the idle rich, who did not require women to be mobile enough for housework. But it was soon adopted by the subaltern classes, becoming a prerequisite for marriage—even though the

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female’s reduced physical capacity and mobility had a negative impact on poorer households that could not aff ord servants. Foot-binding lasted for a thousand years, during which time about one billion women suff ered its mutilations.38

Earlier, we mentioned the Hutu revolution in Rwanda in 1959, which pro-duced an enormous outpouring of enthusiasm among the subaltern masses. How could this enthusiasm later turn into genocide? What is it about a liberation movement that can carry it too far? What transforms saviors (and even Hitler and Siad Barre were initially welcomed as saviors) into other- and self-destroyers, when “mere” oppression would have maintained them in power more effi ciently? Perhaps what takes place is that shame becomes unbearable—shame rooted in subalterns’ admiration of former elites, a dynamic accentuated further by the advent of modern concepts of human rights.

Briefl y revisiting the diff erence between shame and humiliation is relevant at this point. Shame may be defi ned as a humbling experience that a person agrees she has caused, while humiliation describes experiences imposed by oth-ers—those that the victim has not caused. Shame, in contrast with humiliation, is oft en prosocial—shamelessness is not a virtue! But there is an exception: a special and emotionally destructive type of shame, namely unacknowledged and bypassed shame. Th is is so unbearable that it cannot even be acknowledged and is accordingly denied and disavowed. For Scheff , bypassed shame is the motor of all violence,39 the source of what Lewis calls “humiliated fury.”

Human rights ideals amplify this phenomenon, because they call not only for an end to tyrants, but for an end to rank altogether. Th is turns elite admiration into a doubly shameful voluntary self-lowering and self-humiliation. In former times, subalterns rose and stepped into the shoes of their envied masters, taking over as objects of subaltern admiration and imitation. But when the master-sub-altern dyad is dismantled, there is no place left for elite veneration. Th erefore, shame for elite admiration in subalterns—particular bypassed shame—may explain why such particularly extreme cruelties and humiliations are infl icted when subaltern actors rise up to take “revenge.”

Figure . Genocidal “cleansing”

Top of the scale

Newly risen subalterns attempt to “cleanse” themselves of elite admiration

Line of equal dignity

Humility

Former elites, now deposed, are humiliated even further

Bottom of the scale


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Notions of “cleansing,” ethnic and otherwise, thus may also point to sub-alterns’ need to cleanse and eradicate their own elite admiration. Th e obses-sion with tearing even the babies out of mothers’ wombs, to wipe out “root and branch” every trace of the formerly admired elite, may derive from this shame. For entrenched elites, the “mere” oppression of subalterns might suffi ce. Rational considerations may prevail; excessive humiliation or killing is simply “not worth the bother.” But former subalterns—now risen to power—oft en seem obsessed with “total cleansing” and may perpetrate extreme forms of violence and humili-ation on the former (and, one suspects it is feared, future) elites.

For the study of genocide, Figure 7.1 may be adapted to arrive at Figure 7.2. Th e cruelest behavior may not be exhibited by long-established elites, but rather by subaltern actors attempting to “cleanse” themselves of inferiority and elite-admiration.

“Getting the fi x,” in the case of humiliation, may also be conceptualized as resolving dissonance and self-doubt and gaining “purity.”40 “How can I feel sym-pathy, let alone admiration, for oppressors I ought to hate!”—this is the dilemma. It may be that genocide’s victims are dehumanized and humiliated before being exterminated not so much because perpetrators actually believe they merit this, but because they have doubts and need to persuade themselves through the infl ic-tion of atrocity. Th ey may feel a need to go as far as total extermination, precisely because they do not trust their own ability to always hate. Th ey may fear that weakness on this score will lead to a return of the oppressors, and to a fresh round of humiliation.

Th is doubt is analogous to what Paul Rusesabagina has called the “soft spot.” Rusesabagina’s story is well known and formed the basis for the 2004 fi lm Hotel Rwanda. He managed to shelter more than 1,200 Tutsi and moderate Hutu in the Hotel Mille Collines, which he managed, while killers roamed outside with guns and machetes. In a BBC HARDtalk interview with David Jessel in May 2007, Rusesabagina explained his strategy: he would fi nd what he called the “soft spot” in the perpetrators. “Nobody is totally good or totally evil,” he attested.

Rusesabagina described how, at one point, he traveled from his house to the hotel, along with his family and people who had sought refuge in his house. At a roadblock, he was handed a gun and ordered to kill his family and everyone accompanying him; thereaft er, he too would be killed. He looked into the eyes of the man who gave this order, while the man proceeded to oversee the killing of others at the roadblock. For fi ve long minutes, Rusesabagina attempted to hold his gaze. He noticed that the man could not withstand it: he had touched this Hutu perpetrator’s inner awareness of his own guilt. Eventually, his party was allowed to leave.

Rusesabagina’s account may point to possible strategies for genocide interven-tion, based on a deeper understanding of humiliation and shame. Leaders with genocidal tendencies must, of course, be prevented from taking power, wherever possible. But even democracy off ers no guarantees: such leaders may fi nd ways to

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manipulate democratic mechanisms and exploit democratic freedoms to incite followers, as Hitler did.

Another strategy, therefore, may be to dignify the masses that otherwise serve as “fodder” for the narratives of humiliation into which they are “invited” by humiliation entrepreneurs. Eff orts must be made to explain, through the edu-cation system and media, that feelings of impurity and dissonance are an inevi-table, indeed healthy part of the human condition; they do not require purgation or “cleansing.”

Th is off ers some hope amidst the bleakness that sometimes threatens to over-whelm us. Hunter-gatherer cultures, existing up until ten thousand years ago or so, provided a cultural context that promoted cooperation. Th is was enough time for such cooperation to be partly “hardwired”: for genetic adaptation to derive from cultural adaptation. Th en, about ten thousand years ago, a cultural context arose that favored war. Th e intervening millennia, however, were not suffi cient for genetic adaptation—so this aspect is not hardwired. Soldiers have had to be trained and inculcated to kill their “enemies,” since killing is not something that human beings do “naturally” and easily. (We usually forget how much we depend on our expectation that fellow human beings outside our own tribe will not kill us. Th e global tourism industry, for example, would founder without this expectation!)

We currently inhabit a transitional period that promotes malign aspects drawn from the legacy of the past ten thousand years, such as an orientation toward competition and accumulating material goods; but which also features benign elements derived from the period prior to the rise of agriculture, which is now linked to the similarly benign aspects of an emerging knowledge society. Th us, neither ancient nor modern culture can be said to corrupt or (alternatively) ennoble humans. Rather, certain aspects and elements of these cultures can cor-rupt, while others exert a positive infl uence.

I agree with William Ury that for all its negative aspects, globalization—by paving the way for a global knowledge society—may allow us to push toward a more dignifi ed and egalitarian world. We need to become more attentive to this trend, and start channeling it constructively. I call for globalization to be married to egalization (the implementation of the human rights call for equal dignity). Such a strategy might allow us to build a decent global village, following the call for a decent society issued by Avishai Margalit.

Egalization must be implemented at all levels, from the global “macro” con-text to the “micro” contexts of relationships with our families, colleagues, and friends—even within our own psyches. Egalization off ers an opportunity to dis-mantle tyrannical systems and their destructive ways of defi ning human conduct, including the tyrannical behavior that emanates from deep within us. Another way to frame this is as thesis-antithesis-synthesis. In the thesis, subalterns subser-viently accept oppression. In the antithesis, subalterns violently reject oppression. In the needed synthesis, human beings transcend oppression rather than merely rejecting it, and construct thereby a newly dignifi ed world.

In former times, the process stopped at the antithesis stage. Subaltern actors rose up, replaced the tyrant—and maintained the tyrannical system intact. Th is is


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also what the génocidaires and terrorists of today accomplish. Th ey act like tyrants in their fi ght against tyrants. Th ey focus on the what, not the how. In many cases, this fl ows from an enthusiastic fervor for liberation—from aspirations to greater dignity. In my research, I attach the label “extremists” to those who perpetuate cycles of humiliation rather than seeking to end them. “Moderates,” by contrast, are those who have the intellectual and emotional resources to end such cycles.

I see some of these dangers, and also the potential for constructive action, in the present-day “war on terror.” If we accept that feelings of subaltern inferior-ity infl uence the decision to adopt terrorist methods, it hardly suffi ces for target populations to triumphantly cry: “Oh, they only hate us because they admire and envy us!”—as if the fact of envy bolsters the targets’ superiority. And subalterns who rise to power need to understand that feelings of inferiority are not some-thing to be ashamed of, or to “cleanse.” Th ey stem, rather, from a historic evolu-tion that fi rst cultivated hierarchies, including emotional mindsets of inferiority and elite admiration for subaltern actors, only later to delegitimize them. Th e emotional pain associated with this transformation cannot be healed by violent mayhem, whether terrorist or counterterrorist in nature. It can be healed only by gradually expanding boundaries of a world in which all people have equal rights and access to dignity.

In recent times, few leaders have so exemplifi ed the possibility of such a healing strategy as Nelson Mandela in South Africa. Mandela could have fol-lowed the example of Rwanda’s Hutu leadership. He would certainly have had the power to unleash genocide on the white elite in South Africa. He did not. One can only agree with Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s 1997 comment “to white people of this country: you don’t know how lucky you are.”41

Clearly, post-Apartheid South Africa still faces many challenges. However, the lessons that Mandela taught the world are still relevant. Aft er twenty-seven years in prison, some of his prison guards had become his friends. In short, his strategy was not to kill enemies, but to turn them into partners. Let us accord-ingly end this chapter with a quote from Mandela himself:

I always knew that deep down in every human heart, there is mercy and generos-ity. No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. Even in the grimmest times in prison, when my comrades and I were pushed to our limits, I would see a glimmer of humanity in one of the guards, per-haps just for a second, but it was enough to reassure me and keep me going. Man’s goodness is a fl ame that can be hidden but never extinguished.42

Notes 1. Lindner, “Th e Psychology of Humiliation: Somalia, Rwanda/Burundi, and Hitler’s

Germany.” 2. See a deeper discussion in Lindner, “Were Ordinary Germans Hitler’s ‘Willing

Executioners’?” and Lindner, “Humiliation and Reactions to Hitler’s Seductiveness in Post-War Germany.”

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3. See, for example, Lindner, “Avoiding Humiliation”; Lindner, “In Times of Glob-alization and Human Rights”; Lindner, “Emotion and Confl ict”; Lindner, Making Enemies.

4. For a comprehensive description, see Ury, Getting to Peace. 5. Th ose interested in pursuing these themes further may consult the author’s

extensive writings at http://www.humiliationstudies.org/whoweare/evelin02.php. 6. Among the few exceptions are Klein, “Th e Humiliation Dynamic,” and Hartling and

Luchetta, “Humiliation: Assessing the Impact of Derision, Degradation, and Debasement.” 7. Among others, by Tomkins, Aff ect Imagery and Consciousness, whose work is

carried further by Nathanson, Shame and Pride. 8. “Dissmell” is a neologism created by Tomkins. If “disgust” is a word indicating

bad taste, “dissmell” is the analogue for a bad smell. 9. See, for example, Elias, Th e Civilizing Process. 10. Marks and Mönnich-Marks, “Th e Analysis of Counter-Transference Reactions

as a Means to Discern Latent Interview-Contents.” 11. Ibid., para. 12. 12. Scheff and Retzinger, Emotions and Violence. 13. Smedslund, “Social Representations and Psychologic.” 14. Vogel and Lazare, “Th e Unforgivable Humiliation: A Dilemma in Couples’

Treatment.” 15. Lazare, On Apology, 262. 16. Lift on, Super Power Syndrome. 17. Stern, Terror in the Name of God. 18. Hale, “Th e Role of Humiliation and Embarrassment in Serial Murder.” 19. Scheff , Bloody Revenge: Emotions, Nationalism and War. 20. See, for example, Lewis, Th e Role of Shame in Symptom Formation, 19. 21. See also Scheff , Emotions, the Social Bond and Human Reality, and Smith, Glob-

alization, the Hidden Agenda. 22. Volkan, Julius, and Montville, Th e Psychodynamics of International Relationships. 23. Volkan, Blind Trust. 24. Staub, Th e Psychology of Good and Evil; Staub, “Th e Roots of Evil.” 25. Margalit, Th e Decent Society. 26. Nisbett and Cohen, Culture of Honor. 27. Wyatt-Brown, Southern Honor. 28. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays. 29. See, for example, the work done by Barry Posen, “Th e Security Dilemma and

Ethnic Confl ict,” and Hardin, One for All. 30. Ury, Getting to Peace, xvii. 31. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 175.32. See, for more detail, Coser, Masters of Sociological Th ought.33. Smith, “Organisations and Humiliation,” 541–44; Lindner, Making Enemies, 28–29.34. Lindner, Th e Psychology of Humiliation, 351.35. Jäckel, Hitler’s World View, 64.36. Scheff , “Shame in Self and Society,” 258.37. See the fi rst chapters, where Hitler describes his youth and adolescence in Mein

Kampf.38. See, among others, Levy, Th e Lotus Lovers.39. Scheff , Aggression, Male Emotions and Relations, 4–5.40. See Festinger, A Th eory of Cognitive Dissonance. As to the topic of purity, see, for

example, Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger.


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41. Tutu and Davis, Moment of Truth, interview.42. Mandela, A Long Walk to Freedom, 542.

Works CitedCoser, Lewis A. Masters of Sociological Th ought: Ideas in Historical and Social Context.

2nd ed. Fort Worth: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1977.Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo.

London: Ark Paperbacks, 1984.Elias, Norbert. Th e Civilizing Process. Volume 1: Th e History of Manners. Volume 2: State

Formation and Civilization. Oxford: Blackwell, 1994.Festinger, Leon. A Th eory of Cognitive Dissonance. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University

Press, 1957.Haas, Jonathan. Warfare and the Evolution of Culture. Santa Fe, N.M.: Santa Fe Institute,

1998. Available at http://www.santafe.edu/sfi /publications/Working-Papers/98-10-088.pdf. Accessed November 15, 2002.

Hale, Robert L. “Th e Role of Humiliation and Embarrassment in Serial Murder.” Psychol-ogy. A Journal of Human Behaviour 31, no. 2 (1994): 17–23.

Hardin, Russell. One for All: Th e Logic of Group Confl ict. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995.

Hartling, Linda M., and Tracy Luchetta. “Humiliation: Assessing the Impact of Deris-ion, Degradation, and Debasement.” Journal of Primary Prevention 19, no. 5 (1999): 259–78.

Hitler, Adolf. Mein Kampf. 1925–26. London: Pimlico, 1999.Jäckel, Eberhard. Hitler’s World View. A Blueprint for Power. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard

University Press, 1991.Klein, Donald C. “Th e Humiliation Dynamic: An Overview. Viewing the Task of Pre vention

From a New Perspective I (Special Issue, Section 1).” Journal of Primary Prevention 12, no. 2 (1991): 93–121.

Lazare, Aaron. On Apology. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004.Levy, Howard S. Th e Lotus Lovers: Th e Complete History of the Curious Erotic Custom of

Footbinding in China. Buff alo: Prometheus Books, 1992.Lewis, Helen B. Th e Role of Shame in Symptom Formation. Hillsdale, N.J.: Lawrence

Erlbaum Associates, 1987.Lift on, Robert J. Super Power Syndrome: America’s Apocalyptic Confrontation with the

World. New York: Th under’s Mouth Press, 2003.Lindner, Evelin G. “Avoiding Humiliation—From Intercultural Communication to Global

Interhuman Communication.” Journal of Intercultural Communication, SIETAR Japan no. 10 (2007): 21–38.

. “Emotion and Confl ict: Why It Is Important to Understand How Emotions Aff ect Confl ict and How Confl ict Aff ects Emotions.” In Th e Handbook of Confl ict Reso lution: Th eory and Practice, ed. Morton Deutsch, Peter T. Coleman, and Eric C. Marcus, 268–93. 2nd ed. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2006.

. “Humiliation and Reactions to Hitler’s Seductiveness in Post-War Germany: Personal Refl ections.” Social Alternatives 25, no. 1 (special issue: Humiliation and History in Global Perspectives) (2006): 6–11.

. “In Times of Globalization and Human Rights: Does Humiliation Become the Most Disruptive Force?” Journal of Human Dignity and Humiliation Studies 1, no. 1 (March 2007). Available at http://www.humilliationstudies.upeace.org/.

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. Making Enemies: Humiliation and International Confl ict. Westport, Conn.: Green-wood Press, 2006.

. “Th e Psychology of Humiliation: Somalia, Rwanda/Burundi, and Hitler’s Ger-many.” Ph.D. diss., University of Oslo, 2000.

. “Were Ordinary Germans Hitler’s ‘Willing Executioners’? Or Were Th ey Vic tims of Humiliating Seduction and Abandonment? Th e Case of Germany and Somalia.” IDEA: A Journal of Social Issues 5, no. 1 (2000). Available at http://www.ideajournal.com/lindner-willing-executioners.html.

Mandela, Nelson R. A Long Walk to Freedom: Th e Autobiography of Nelson Mandela. Boston: Little, Brown, 1994.

Margalit, Avishai. Th e Decent Society. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996.Marks, Stephan, and Heidi Mönnich-Marks. “Th e Analysis of Counter-Transference Re-

actions as a Means to Discern Latent Interview-Contents.” Forum Qualitative Sozial-forschung / Forum: Qualitative Social Research [On-Line Journal] 4, no. 2 (May 2003). Available at http://www.qualitative-research.net/fqs-texte/2-03/2-03marks-e.htm. Accessed June 17, 2004.

Miller, William Ian. Humiliation and Other Essays on Honor, Social Discomfort, and Vio-lence. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993.

Nathanson, Donald L. Shame and Pride: Aff ect Sex and the Birth of the Self. New York: Norton, 1992.

Nisbett, Richard E., and Dov Cohen. Culture of Honor: Th e Psychology of Violence in the South. Boulder, Colo: Westview Press, 1996.

Posen, Barry. “Th e Security Dilemma and Ethnic Confl ict” Survival 35, no. 1 (1993): 27–47.

Scheff , Th omas J. Aggression, Male Emotions and Relations: Th e Silence/Violence Pattern. Santa Barbara, Calif., 2005. Available at http://www.soc.ucsb.edu/faculty/scheff /42.html.

. Bloody Revenge: Emotions, Nationalism and War. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990.

. Emotions, the Social Bond and Human Reality. Part/Whole Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.

. “Shame in Self and Society.” Symbolic Interaction 26, no. 2 (2003): 239–62.Scheff , Th omas J., and Suzanne M. Retzinger. Emotions and Violence: Shame and Rage in

Destructive Confl icts. Lexington, Mass.: Lexington Books, 1991.Smedslund, Jan. “Social Representations and Psychologic.” Culture & Psychology 4, no. 4

(1998): 435–54.Smith, Dennis. Globalization, the Hidden Agenda. Cambridge: Polity Press: 2006. . “Organisations and Humiliation: Looking Beyond Elias.” Organization 8, no. 3

(2001): 537–60.Staub, Ervin. Th e Psychology of Good and Evil: Why Children, Adults, and Groups Help

and Harm Others. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. . “Th e Roots of Evil: Social Conditions, Culture, Personality and Basic Human

Needs.” Personality and Social Psychology Review 3, no. 3 (1999): 179–92.Stern, Jessica. Terror in the Name of God: Why Religious Militants Kill. New York: Harper-

Collins, 2003.Tomkins, Silvan S. Aff ect Imagery and Consciousness (Volumes I–IV). New York: Springer,

1962.Tutu, Desmond, and Sharon Davis. Moment of Truth. Interview, “Background Briefi ng,”

ABC Radio, May 4, 1997. Available at http://www.abc.net.au/rn/talks/bbing/stories/s10597.htm. Accessed January 1, 2008.


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Ury, William. Getting to Peace: Transforming Confl ict at Home, at Work, and in the World. New York: Viking, 1999.

Vogel, William, and Aaron Lazare. “Th e Unforgivable Humiliation: A Dilemma in Couples’ Treatment.” Contemporary Family Th erapy 12, no. 2 (1990): 139–51.

Volkan, Vamik D. Blind Trust: Large Groups and Th eir Leaders in Times of Crisis and Terror. Charlottesville, Va.: Pitchstone Publishing, 2004.

Volkan, Vamik D., Demetrios A. Julius, and Joseph V. Montville, eds. Th e Psychodynamics of International Relationships. Volume 2: Unoffi cial Diplomacy at Work. Lexington, Mass.: Lexington Books, 1991.

Wyatt-Brown, Bertram. Southern Honor: Ethics and Behavior in the Old South. New York: Oxford University Press, 1982.

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Evolution, Primates, and Subaltern Genocide

E. O. SMITH

The incident took place in February 1974 and marked the beginning of the end of the Kahama community. A raiding party of three adult males and one adult female from the Kasakela community hiked for over half an

hour into Kahama country, where they happened upon a member of the Kahama community. Th e three males attacked quickly, catching the unsuspecting Kahama male, biting him and stamping on him. Soon the victim stopped struggling and sat hunched over on the ground. Suddenly he attempted to run away, but he was caught by the leg and pulled to the ground. Now all the members of the Kasakela raiding party, including the female, joined in the attack, pounding the prostrate vic-tim repeatedly. One or more of the aggressors ripped the skin from the victim’s leg with their teeth. Th e attack ended as quickly as it had begun. Two months later the victim was seen again. His spine and pelvis were protruding. He had an unhealed gash on his inner thigh, likely the spot where his skin was ripped in the attack. Th e nails had been torn off his fi ngers. One toe was partially severed. He had lost part of an ear. He was emaciated. Aft er that sighting, he was never seen again.

Th is is not an instance of a genocidal attack among humans, but rather an attack by members of a larger, socially dominant group of chimpanzees (based on the demography of the group, and in particular the number of adult males) on members of a smaller, less dominant group in the Gombe Stream National Park in Tanzania.1 Th e incident suggests that humans are not the only primates capable of systematic group attack and killing of nongroup members. Consideration of, and comparison with, our closest nonhuman relatives may provide useful insights into genocidal behavior in general, and subaltern geno-cide in particular. Are humans, for example, the only animal species in which some groups experience “oppression” and seek to gain “revenge” and achieve “liberation” by waging genocide against their “oppressors”? To the extent that humans exhibit such behavior, can we account for it with culture and learned behavior alone? Or is there an evolutionary basis for this behavior?

A reasonable question is: “So what if there are commonalities between humans and nonhumans in the expression of certain types of aggressive behavior?” And additionally, “What diff erence does it make if genocide has an

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evolutionary or biological basis or not?” It is important to understand that the strategies developed to control genocide might be diff erent from those employed today, if it could be shown that there was at least a partial evolutionary or bio-logical basis to this aggressive behavior. An evolutionary perspective on human aggression might therefore stimulate new thinking about the formation and implementation of social policy, incorporating an acceptance of the underly-ing genetic and hence evolutionary basis of our aggressive behavior. Using an evolutionary approach, it might be possible to identify certain sociopolitical and ecological situations where genocide may occur, and at the very least prepare a humanitarian response if it occurs.

An Evolutionary Primer

Many critics of the application of evolutionary theory to human behavior are vigorous adherents to the Standard Social Science Model (SSSM) of explanation. Th e central theme of the SSSM is that diff erences between people result from dif-fering environmental conditions, not genetic diff erences between populations or individuals. Unfortunately, adherents of the SSSM are misinformed about the relationship between genes and behavior. Rather than playing a rigidly determin-istic role in shaping behavior, genes may exert more subtle infl uences—which feel like urges from within that have positive feelings attached to them, as opposed to rigid cause-and-eff ect relationships. Th e widespread acceptance of the SSSM is based on its moral appeal rather than on empirical fact. Th e SSSM has been care-fully critiqued,2 but its appeal lies in its strong stand against explaining diff erences between races, sexes, or individuals as exclusively the outcome of underlying bio-logical diff erences. In its most extreme form, the SSSM holds that humans are plastic and the contingencies of the environment shape and channel our behavior with no input from our genetic heritage in explaining modern human variation.

Th is model has been important in combating social injustices. Supporters of the SSSM are opposed to racism and sexism; by defi nition, those who challenge the moral superiority of SSSM are labeled “biological determinists.” Th is charac-terization of all non-SSSM adherents as determinists is patently wrong. Moreover, SSSM adherents argue that those who challenge the SSSM are attacking the basic human behavioral plasticity that is the cornerstone of their view of human nature. Th is “learning” view of human behavior favored by ardent devotees of SSSM is the intellectual product of the renowned psychologist John B. Watson:

Give me a dozen healthy infants, well-formed, and my own specifi ed world to bring them up in and I’ll guarantee to any one at random and train him to become any type of specialist I might select—doctor, lawyer, artist, merchant-chief, and yes, even beggar-man and thief, regardless of his talents, penchants, tendencies, abilities, vocations, and the race of his ancestors.3

Before I enter into the details of the argument about an evolutionary basis for genocide, it is important to have a basic understanding of evolutionary the-

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ory. Most people feel they have an intuitive grasp of what Darwinian evolution is all about, but it may be benefi cial to review some basic principles. Readers with a solid background in Darwinian thinking are invited to skip ahead to the section “Comparative Data.”

Darwin 101

Darwin’s central thesis consists of three major points and can be summarized as follows. Where competition exists for scarce resources, those organisms most fi t to survive and reproduce will do so in greater numbers than those less fi t. Darwin’s ideas were not completely novel when he wrote On the Origin of Species, and they seem almost absurdly simple today. But there is much more here than fi rst meets the eye. Th e fi rst aspect of Darwin’s theory is that competition is a fundamental aspect of life; it occurs when two or more individuals require the same resources and those resources are in limited supply. Competition exists at several diff erent levels in biological communities, but for our purposes intraspe-cifi c competition is of considerable importance.

Intraspecifi c Competition

Organisms encounter competition from members of their own species, and it is common among animals as well as humans. Intraspecifi c competition among humans takes a variety of forms, and it is not always the “main event, winner-take-all” strategy that is most successful. Deception, bluffi ng, and false advertis-ing are all important alternative competitive strategies—very oft en the strategies that are played out in human subaltern genocide in order to initiate a discourse of resistance and sometimes active rebellion.4 Th e fi rst thing to do in understand-ing competition in an evolutionary sense is to attempt to identify the cause of the original confl ict—although identifi cation of the contested resource is not as easy as it may seem at fi rst blush.

Most Fit to Survive

Winning at evolution means more than simply surviving. In fact, survival alone does not even get you entered in the competition. What you really want to do is to maximize your genetic representation in future generations. Is that the same as maximizing the number of children that you have? Th at is partially the case—but the real defi nition of fi tness has to do with the number of your genes that are present in the next generation.

When one thinks about measuring fi tness, the renowned evolutionary biologist W. D. Hamilton (1936–2000), called by some the most distinguished Darwinian since Darwin, suggested that there are two components that must be taken into account.5 First, there is your direct fi tness, the number of your off spring

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that survive and reproduce. Remember that the only way to win at the game of evolution is to ensure that your genes reach the next generation, producing off -spring that in turn produce off spring. By becoming a grandparent, you win at the game of evolution. However, the production of massive numbers of off spring that fail to reach maturity is not a winning strategy in evolution; nor is producing off -spring that reach maturity but do so too slowly to make an impact in subsequent generations. It does not matter in the evolutionary calculus how many children you have if none of them reach sexual maturity and mate.

Th e production of off spring is not the only way one can get genes into subse-quent generations. On average, you share about fi ft y percent of your genes with a full sibling, someone who has the same mother and father as you. Th is means that if your full sibling has children that survive and reproduce, then you are also winning at the game of evolution without reproducing yourself. Hamilton called this indirect fi tness, and it is the outcome of the reproductive eff orts of those to whom you are related. Imagine that you are actually helping yourself in the game of evolution if your sibling produces off spring that reproduce—even if you never see them or interact with them, or even know their names. Your total fi tness is thus composed of your direct fi tness plus your indirect fi tness. In most cases, your indirect fi tness will not exceed your direct fi tness, but it is conceivable that it might.6 And since it is total lifetime fi tness that is signifi cant, one could make a relative judgment about fi tness based on current reproductive output that would be totally incorrect. Th is is particularly important to keep in mind for a long-lived species such as our own.

Greater Numbers of Survivors

Th e fi nal piece of the short version of Darwinian evolution emphasized that where competition exists for scarce resources, those organisms that are most fi t survive and reproduce in greater numbers than those that are less fi t. It means that while individuals live and die, it is a species that undergoes extinction. Not all individuals with certain characteristics favorable to a particular environment will necessarily survive and reproduce; there are many non-Darwinian factors (unpredictable environmental change, random chance, and so on) that can aff ect survival. What Darwin meant is that if you possess characteristics that are fi t-ness-enhancing in a particular environment, you will survive in greater numbers than those not possessing those favorable characters.

So is there some absolute number of individuals possessing a particular phenotype that must survive in order for you to win at evolution? How many grandchildren must you have to ensure that you are a winner in evolutionary terms? Must you produce 1.8, 2.4, 4, or even 7 off spring to “win”? Unfortunately, there is no absolute number that ensures you will win in the competitive arena of evolution. Th e only thing you must do is to produce more viable off spring that reproduce themselves than your local competition. It is not the number of off spring produced by competitors that are distantly removed, but ones with whom you compete daily.

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Exactly What Is Evolution?

Evolution is one of the central concepts in biology, and because its defi nition is so simple and elegant, people are easily deceived into thinking that it is something it is not. Th e concept of evolution is widely deployed, yet there is a fundamental problem with how it is used. For example, many assume that evolution is some-how progressive. To most people, if something is evolving, there is an unstated assumption that it is improving. Of course, what constitutes improvement is another matter entirely.

Th e word evolution has its origin in Latin evolvere, means to unfold or un -furl. Nowhere in its defi nition is there a notion that progress is an inherent part of evolution. Th e hypothesis that there was some driving force in organisms that moved them in a unilinear manner toward perfection can be traced to Jean-Baptiste-Pierre-Antoine de Monet, Chevalier de Lamarck (1744–1829), and his idea of the inheritance of acquired characteristics. Th e notion that organisms are moving inexorably toward perfection has many implications that are beyond the scope of this chapter, most notably in current ideas about intelligent design and religion. However, it was Herbert Spencer (1820–1903) who suggested that social evolution was comparable to biological evolution and that human soci-eties progressed from undiff erentiated hordes into complex civilizations. Ideas about the progressive nature of evolution still hold considerable power in the common conception of evolution. In fact, Darwin did not refer to evolution in the Origin until the last page, the last paragraph, the last sentence, and the fi nal word of his book:

Th ere is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been origi-nally breathed by the Creator into a few forms or into one; and that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fi xed law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being evolved.7

So if evolution is not progressive, what is it? As used in evolutionary anthro-pology, and for that matter in virtually all of science, evolution simply describes genetic changes in organisms over time. Th e defi nition has no hidden assump-tions about organisms progressing to forms that are increasingly better adapted to their local environment. Genetic changes could produce forms that are better able to exploit their local environment; but just as easily, evolution can produce forms less able to survive. From a statistical perspective, the odds are that species extinction is much more likely than survival.

If this view of evolution is correct, what factors will bring about these genetic changes over time? Th ere are four forces that can cause changes in gene fre-quency or produce evolutionary change in a population. Natural selection, the diff erential production and survival of off spring, is the force that most frequently comes to mind. It is certainly important, but the others deserve careful consider-ation as well. Mutation, the physical alteration of heritable genetic material, is the source of new genetic material in the population and that new genetic material


164

can have positive, negative, or neutral eff ects. Rather than characterizing muta-tions as good or bad, it is best to think of them as having potential for both. Gene fl ow, the migration of fertile individuals and their subsequent reproduction, or the transfer of gametes between groups of individuals, is a lesser known agent of evolutionary change, but one that has had considerable importance in the evolu-tion of early humans and their diff usion from Africa. Finally, there are changes in the genetic makeup of populations that are due to random events that have nothing to do with the process of organisms becoming better adapted to their environment, and this is called genetic drift .

Another evolutionarily important concept with which almost everyone has a passing familiarity is adaptation. Th is is the outcome of natural selection, since such selection is the only evolutionary force that can “choose” one phenotype over another. It is important to remember that natural selection is an evolutionary force that does not “know” if an organism possesses an underlying genotype that will be more successful than other genotypes in the population. Natural selection can only “see” the variation expressed in the phenotype. An individual could be the carrier of the most adaptive trait imaginable in a particular environment; but if it is not expressed, it cannot be selected. When we speak about an organism being “adapted” to its environment, we are really saying that it possesses a suite of traits or characteristics, expressed in the phenotype, that increase its fi tness relative to individuals without those traits. We can talk about both process and outcome: about an organism becoming adapted to its environment, and about an organism possessing adaptations to an environment.

Underlying Assumptions of Darwinian Evolution

First, for a character or trait to be called Darwinian, there must be some pheno-typic variation in the population under study. A phenotypic trait is one that is observable, and is the outcome of an interaction between the underlying genetic basis and the environment. What is of particular concern here is that there must be variation in the expression of the trait. Without variation in phenotype there would be no raw material on which natural selection could operate.

Th e genetic basis for all traits, whether they are expressed phenotypic traits or unexpressed traits, is the genotype. Not all of the genetic variation present in an organism is expressed in the phenotype. Th e variation in phenotype can be due to underlying genetic variation, as well as variation introduced by the envi-ronment. Indeed, the second assumption that must be met before a trait can be considered a Darwinian trait is that some proportion of the phenotypic variation must be due to underlying genetic variation. Th is is not the same as saying a trait is genetically determined, just that a proportion of the variation in the phenotype is due to underlying variation in the genes. Th at one can see variation in geneti-cally identical off spring demonstrates that not all variation is due to genes.

Finally, to be considered Darwinian, a trait must have some eff ect on the fi t-ness of the individual possessing it. While many traits fulfi ll this condition, a non-

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trivial number are simply adaptively neutral. Th ese neutral traits are maintained in populations because there is no selection pressure against them.8 Without fi t-ness consequences for the possessor, no trait can be called a Darwinian trait; while perhaps interesting to specialists in genetics and evolutionary biology, the discussion of neutral traits is beyond the scope of this chapter.

Comparative Data

I have attempted to lay the foundation for the serious consideration that there are aspects of modern human behavior that should be called Darwinian evolu-tionary traits. Indeed, an evolutionary perspective has been enormously helpful in understanding such disparate aspects of human behavior as our reproductive strategies,9 our parenting behavior,10 and our tendency toward aggression, vio-lence, and warfare.11

Th is perspective is important if we are to assess the possibility that genocide in general, and subaltern genocide in particular, may have an evolutionary basis. My goal in this section is to present comparative data on intraspecifi c killing in other animals, and to evaluate its importance for our discussion of subaltern genocide. Th e data are restricted to mammals, and to cases of individuals killing members of their own species in particular. (While intraspecifi c killing is well known in birds, insects, and fi sh, I have excluded those data based on their pre-sumed phylogenetic distance from humans. I have also excluded cases of inter-specifi c predatory behavior.)

I categorize intraspecifi c killing into three types: infanticide,12 intragroup killing, and intergroup killing. Infanticide is a fascinating behavior: at fi rst glance it seems to run counter to Darwinian principles, but on further examination it can be seen as a classic Darwinian trait.13 Male infanticide in animals is a straightfor-ward fi tness-maximizing strategy whereby males will attack and kill infants sired by other males. Th e net result of the loss of a dependent infant is that mothers soon return to a sexually receptive state. Th is type of infanticide typically occurs in species where males immigrate between groups, but it has also been observed in species lacking male migration.14 Female infanticide is also observed in a vari-ety of animals; typically, the killing of dependent off spring of other females helps to secure additional resources for the perpetrator’s off spring. Classifying killings into those perpetrated against members of a social group by members of that group, as distinct from killings perpetrated by nongroup members, also seems relevant. Given that genocide involves the killing of members of one group by members of another, diff erentiating among the types of lethal aggression seen in mammals seems justifi ed if we are to search for examples that inform our study.

While chimpanzees are the primary focus of this comparative analysis, it is important to note that there are many other primate species, as well as other mam-malian species, that form coalitions in order to enhance dominance status, gain access to estrus females, or gain access to preferred food resources. Most of the


166

research on coalitions has been done on nonhuman primates, but there is good evidence that such diverse animals as South and Central American coatimundis, African spotted hyenas, and Atlantic spotted dolphins form coalitions for a variety of reasons. (See Table 8.1.) While the comparative data are instructive, they still leave unanswered questions. If coalition formation is as widespread as it appears among primates, and is as important in chimpanzee society as the fi eld research indicates, then what does that mean for us? An in-depth discussion of coalition formation in humans is far beyond the scope of this paper, but there seem to be some interesting parallels, particularly with the behavior of wild chimpanzees.

Both male and female chimpanzees form temporary as well as long-term coalitions in both the fi eld and captive conditions. Such coalitions seem to be important for both males and females, but for diff erent reasons. Captive, group-living female chimpanzees as well as male chimpanzees form coalitions, but the functions of these coalitions seem to diff er dramatically, with males forming coali-tions in order to increase status while female coalitions are formed for protection from male aggression.15 Oddly, however, female chimpanzees have been reported to form such coalitions in the natural setting at only one research site.16 Th is sug-gests that female chimpanzees, like males, have the behavioral potential to engage in such interactions, but do so only when particular demographic and ecologi-cal conditions are present. While the precise reasons females engage in coalitions against males in the Budongo Forest, Uganda, are unclear, it may be that by par-ticipating in such coalitions, females reduce the levels of future aggression.17

In contrast, male chimpanzees routinely form coalitions that have been observed at several diff erent fi eld sites. Chimpanzee males form dyadic as well as triadic coalitions to enhance or maintain dominance status.18 On one occasion, in the Kasakela chimpanzee community in the Gombe Stream National Park, the existing alpha male was overthrown by a team of two brothers (Figan and Faban) that left Figan as the top-ranking male.19 Another coalitionary dominance takeover was observed in the M group in the Mahale Mountains of Tanzania. A deposed alpha male who had remained in the vicinity but some distance from his previous group took advantage of the death of one of the three dominant resident males and allied himself with the less dominant of the two remaining males and ultimately reasserted his alpha dominance position.20

Central to the question of genocide are observations of intergroup killing. If there is a parallel to human genocide among animals and in particular primates, it is likely the coalitionary killing observed in chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes).21 Coalitionary attacks have also been reported in white-faced capuchin monkeys (Cebus capucinus) and spider monkeys (Ateles geoff royi yucatanensis), but these are much rarer occurrences and do not appear to have the same underlying moti-vation as seen in chimpanzees. Th e real question is whether coalitionary killing in chimpanzees is truly homologous with human genocide; or whether certain attributes of human genocide serve to clearly diff erentiate our behavior from that of our closest primate relatives. Th e reports of intergroup killing are summarized in Table 8.2.

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167

Tabl

e 8.1

Ca

ses o

f Co

alit

iona

ry K

illi

ng b

y A

dult

Non

hum

an P

rim

ates

1. α

wou

nded

and

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ted

from

gro

up, l

ater

at

tack

ed ag

ain

by g

roup

mem

bers

and

kille

d.2.

Lon

e non

grou

p (2

–3 y

r) w

as at

tack

ed b

y se

vera

l gr

oup

mem

ber m

ales

inclu

ding

adul

ts, su

badu

lt, an

d ju

veni

les. V

ictim

was

seve

rely

inju

red

and

died

the

next

day

.

1. Y

oung

adul

t (6

–7 y

r) g

roup

mem

ber a

ttack

ed b

y th

ree a

dult

gro

up m

embe

rs an

d ki

lled.

1. P

rime a

dult

of K

aham

a com

mun

ity (G

odi)

atta

cked

by

six ad

ult

, ado

lesce

nt

, and

adul

t

mem

bers

of K

asak

ela. G

odi s

uff e

red

seve

re w

ound

s, ne

ver s

een

agai

n fo

llow

ing

atta

ck, p

resu

med

dea

d.2.

Adu

lt o

f Kah

ama c

omm

unity

(Dé)

atta

cked

by

thre

e adu

lt an

d on

e adu

lt m

embe

r of K

asak

ela.

Dé s

uff e

red

seve

re w

ound

s and

surv

ived

the a

ttack

, bu

t was

assu

med

to h

ave d

ied

as re

sult

of at

tack

.3.

Old

adul

t o

f Kah

ama c

omm

unity

(Gol

iath

) w

as at

tack

ed b

y th

ree a

dult

, and

one

adol

esce

nt m

embe

rs o

f Kas

akela

. Gol

iath

suff e

red

seve

re

woun

ds, n

ever

seen

agai

n fo

llow

ing

atta

ck,

pres

umed

dea

d.

Cebu

sca

pucin

us

Atele

s ge

off ro

yi

Pan

troglo

dyte

s

Whi

te-fa

ced

capu

chin

Spid

er m

onke

y

Chim

panz

ee

Lom

as B

arbu

dal B

iolo

gica

l Re

serv

e, C

osta

Ric

a

Oto

ch M

a’ax

Yete

l Koo

h,

Mex

ico

(Gro

s-Lo

uis e

t al.

2003

)

(Val

ero

et al

. 200

6)

(Goo

dall

et al

. 197

9)

Spe

cies

Co

mm

on

Loca

tion

D

etai

ls

Refe

renc

e

Nam

e

168

1. P

rime a

dult

of K

aham

a com

mun

ity (C

harli

e)

was

pre

sum

ably

kill

ed b

y pa

rty

of fi

ve ad

ult

of

Kasa

kela

com

mun

ity. N

o de

tails

of a

ttack

avai

lable,

bu

t Cha

rlie’s

bod

y fo

und

two

days

late

r at K

aham

a St

ream

.2.

Prim

e you

ng ad

ult

of K

aham

a com

mun

ity

(Sni

ff ) w

as at

tack

ed b

y th

ree a

dult

and

one

adol

esce

nt

mem

bers

of K

asak

ela. S

niff

suff e

red

seve

re in

jurie

s, se

en th

e day

aft e

r atta

ck u

nabl

e to

mov

e, ne

ver s

een

agai

n, p

resu

med

dea

d.3.

Old

adul

t o

f Kah

ama c

omm

unity

(Mad

am B

ee)

atta

cked

by

four

adul

t o

f Kas

akela

com

mun

ity.

Mad

am B

ee su

ff ere

d se

vere

inju

ries a

nd d

ied

fi ve d

ays

aft e

r the

atta

ck.

1. P

rime a

dult

of S

onso

com

mun

ity (Z

esta

) was

at

tack

ed b

y at

leas

t two

adul

t o

f the

Son

so co

m-

mun

ity. Z

esta

suff e

red

fata

l inj

urie

s and

die

d at

the

scen

e of t

he at

tack

. (Su

gges

ted

reas

on fo

r atta

ck w

as

intra

-com

mun

ity m

ale s

exua

l com

petit

ion.

)

1. L

ow ra

nkin

g ad

ult

of t

he N

gogo

com

mun

ity

(GRA

) was

atta

cked

by

at le

ast s

even

oth

er ad

ult

of t

he S

onso

com

mun

ity. G

RA w

as h

eld d

own

durin

g th

e atta

ck b

y th

ree a

dult

but

not

com

-pl

etely

imm

obili

zed.

GRA

suff e

red

seve

re w

ound

s, bu

t sur

vive

d at

tack

onl

y to

die

a w

eek

or so

late

r fro

m h

is w

ound

s. (S

ugge

sted

hypo

thes

es in

clude

re

trib

utio

n fo

r pas

t beh

avio

r, co

ntes

ts ov

er α

stat

us,

or se

xual

acce

ss.)

Pan

troglo

dyte

s

Pan

troglo

dyte

s

Pan

troglo

dyte

s

Chim

panz

ee

Chim

panz

ee

Chim

panz

ee

Gom

be S

tream

Res

erve

, Ta

nzan

ia

Budo

ngo

Fore

st, U

gand

a

Kiba

le N

atio

nal P

ark,

U

gand

a

(Goo

dall

1986

)

(Faw

cett

and

Muh

umuz

a 20

00)

(Wat

ts 20

04)

Spe

cies

Co

mm

on

Loca

tion

D

etai

ls

Refe

renc

e

Nam

e

169

1. A

dult

from

anot

her c

omm

unity

was

feed

ing

with

oth

er g

roup

mem

bers

(at l

east

two

with

in

fant

s, on

e adu

lt , o

ne ju

veni

le) w

hen

the a

dult

was

atta

cked

and

kille

d by

fi ve

adul

t o

f the

N

gogo

com

mun

ity.

2. A

dult

from

Wan

tabu

com

mun

ity w

as at

tack

ed

by si

xtee

n ad

ult a

nd th

ree a

dole

scen

t o

f the

N

gogo

com

mun

ity. A

ttack

ing

did

not

pre

ss

the a

ttack

cont

inuo

usly.

Diff

eren

t p

artic

ipat

ed.

Wan

tabu

d

ied

with

in te

n m

inut

es o

f sta

rt o

f atta

ck.

3. A

dult

from

anot

her c

omm

unity

was

atta

cked

by

eigh

t Ngo

go

. Bot

h ad

ults

and

adol

esce

nts

part

icip

ated

. Inj

ured

adul

t le

ft ar

ea an

d w

as n

ot

seen

agai

n, p

resu

med

dea

d.

4. A

dult

from

Seb

itoli

was

pre

sum

ably

kill

ed b

y te

n fr

om th

e Kan

yaw

ara c

omm

unity

. Th e

atta

ck

was

not

witn

esse

d, b

ut v

ictim

was

foun

d al

read

y de

ad, s

urro

unde

d by

Kan

yaw

ara

5. Ju

veni

le

(fro

m n

eigh

borin

g co

mm

unity

) was

at

tack

ed b

y ≈

eigh

t Ngo

go

. Th e

vic

tim su

ff ere

d se

vere

wou

nds,

but w

as n

ot fo

llow

ed aft

er t

he at

tack

an

d pr

esum

ably

die

d.

Pan

troglo

dyte

sCh

impa

nzee

Kiba

le N

atio

nal P

ark,

U

gand

a(W

atts

et al

. 200

6)

Spe

cies

Co

mm

on

Loca

tion

D

etai

ls

Refe

renc

e

Nam

e

170

1. Ju

veni

le

(≈10

yr)

from

the K

alan

de co

mm

unity

w

as at

tack

ed b

y th

ree a

dult

from

the K

asek

ala

com

mun

ity. V

ictim

suff e

red

seve

re in

jurie

s whi

ch

wer

e pre

sum

ably

fata

l, al

thou

gh h

e was

not

seen

aft

er t

he at

tack

.2.

Ado

lesc

ent

(≈12

–14

yr) o

f the

Mitu

mba

com

-m

unity

was

foun

d de

ad. S

uff e

red

wou

nds t

hat w

ere

cons

isten

t with

thos

e adm

inist

ered

dur

ing

chim

-pa

nzee

atta

cks.

Mal

es fr

om ad

jace

nt co

mm

unity

Ka

seka

la w

ere w

ithin

1 k

m o

f site

of v

ictim

’s bo

dy.

1. S

ix ad

ult

mem

bers

of K

gro

up k

illed

bet

wee

n 19

69 an

d 19

80. S

obon

go an

d Ka

mem

anfu

kill

ed b

y M

gro

up

. All

that

disa

ppea

red

wer

e hea

lthy

and

not s

enile

.

1. A

dult

(Nto

logi

) of M

gro

up w

as fo

und

dead

in

cent

er o

f M g

roup

terr

itory

dea

d. H

is de

ath

follo

wed

nu

mer

ous c

oalit

iona

ry at

tack

s by

form

er su

bord

i-na

tes a

ft er h

is de

feat

as α

o

f M g

roup

Pan

troglo

dyte

s

Pan

troglo

dyte

s

Pan

troglo

dyte

s

Chim

panz

ee

Chim

panz

ee

Chim

panz

ee

Gom

be S

tream

Res

erve

, Ta

nzan

ia

Mah

ale M

ount

ains

N

atio

nal P

ark,

Tan

zani

a

Mah

ale M

ount

ains

N

atio

nal P

ark,

Tan

zani

a

(Wils

on et

al. 2

004)

(Nish

ida a

nd K

awan

aka

1985

)

(Nish

ida 1

996)

Spe

cies

Co

mm

on

Loca

tion

D

etai

ls

Refe

renc

e

Nam

e

171

Species Common Name

Details Reference

Macaca thibetana

Tibetan macaques

Males form coalitions to maintain dominance rankings against lower ranking males or immigrants.

(Berman et al. 2007)

Macaca mulattaRhesus monkeys

Matrilineal kin relations are the basis of coalitions to maintain dominance rank.

(Kutsukake and Hasegawa 2005)

Cercopithecus aethiops

Vervet monkeys

Females formed coalitions to accelerate integration into a new group.

(Hauser et al. 1986)

Cebus capucinus Capuchin monkeys

Females form coalitions against other females as well as males to maintain dominance hierarchy.

(Manson et al. 1999; Perry 1997; Vogel et al. 2007)

Cercopithecus mitis

Blue monkeys

Females form coalitions with other group females to defend territorial boundaries.

(Cords 2002)

Papio cynocephalus

Savanna baboons

Female coalitions important in determining dominance relationships and access to resources.

(Silk et al. 2004)

Crocuta crocuta Spotted hyenas

Males form coalitions to rise in status in female dominated heterosexual groups.

(East and Hofer 2001; Szykman et al. 2003)

Nasua narica White-nosed coatis

Kin-related individuals form bands and direct aggressive behavior toward nongroup unrelated individuals.

(Gompper et al. 1997)

Stenella frontalisAtlantic spotted dolphins

Formed coalitions of young males for social play.

(Herzing and Johnson 1997)

Th ere are several important things to note about Table 8.2. Th e most obvi-ous is that there is a decided mismatch in competitive abilities between aggressor and victim. Killing in nonhuman primates is not an individual eff ort, and more importantly there has been no instance of lethal dyadic aggression observed among any adult apes. Th is is not to say that there is not aggression between and


Table 8.2 Examples of Species Who Routinely Form Coalitions

172

among individuals, but when it escalates to the level of lethal force, individuals give way to coalitions. In order to kill another, coalitions of individuals are impli-cated, not single individuals.

Second, an examination of the primates that have been observed engaging in coalitionary killing reveals a strong bias toward chimpanzees. Th ere has been considerable energy expended among primatologists to explain this bias,22 and a detailed discussion of the ecological as well as social factors involved in chimpan-zees’ disproportionate levels of lethal coalitionary aggression is beyond the scope of this paper. Suffi ce it to say that many feel it has to do with the high degree of male philopatry23 and female migration between male coalitionary bands; but a completely satisfactory explanation remains elusive.

Finally, a careful examination of the coalitionary data for chimpanzees shows that it is males that are the most frequent perpetrators of fatal aggression. It is true that females may participate in these episodes,24 but they are virtually never the initiators. Males are also the most frequent targets of these lethal aggressive coalitions, especially those from neighboring communities. What emerges is a picture of groups of male chimpanzees periodically patrolling the boundaries of their territory, looking for intruders. When they encounter members from other groups, there is a nontrivial probability that some sort of aggressive encounter will ensue, and in a few cases these encounters have escalated in lethal aggression. It appears that this coalitionary killing occurs when the probability of injury to the initiator is low, and is most likely when the killing is carried out by a group of individuals.

So What About Subaltern Genocide?

We now return to the question posed at the beginning of this chapter. Are humans the only animal species in which oppressed groups seek to gain revenge and lib-eration by waging genocide against their oppressors? It is clear that chimpanzees engage in coalitionary killing which has on occasion resulted in the extinction of one group at the hands of another; but does this coalitionary killing among chimpanzees exhibit some of the same patterns and dynamics as subaltern geno-cide in humans?

As one might expect, the answer to that question is complicated. Two factors suggest that chimpanzees do not engage in behavior that is directly comparable to human genocide. First, as we have seen, lethal aggression in chimpanzees is not an individual event, but neither is genocide typically committed by single individuals. Among chimpanzees, coalitions of individuals in all observed cases were the perpetrators of the attacks. Second, the attacks are opportunistic and seem to occur only when the cost of the attack to the perpetrator is low and the likelihood of success is high. Certainly, any historian of human genocide will recognize these as major diff erences.

Given our understanding of chimpanzee behavior, then, it seems likely that the answer to my question is “yes”: humans are the only animal species in which

E. O. Smith

173

oppressed groups seek to gain revenge and liberation by lethal aggression against their oppressors. One of the critical points of the discussion is the behavior of groups. Th e coalitions among chimpanzee males have some extraordinary prop-erties (e.g., longevity of associations, mutual support, sharing of resources), but there seems to be a lack of coordinated action of entire groups. Interestingly, some primatologists have speculated that there may be an element of revenge among chimpanzees, a characteristic motivating factor in subaltern genocide.

Robert Trivers, in his seminal paper on the evolution of reciprocal altru-ism,25 used the term “moralistic aggression” to identify a type of behavior that would ensure that an altruist would not continue to engage in such behavior in the absence of reciprocation, to frighten a non-reciprocator with injury, or in extreme cases to kill, injure, or exile a non-reciprocator.26 It has been suggested that “elements of revenge may enter into it (the attack) as may dissatisfaction about the cost/benefi t balance of the relationship (e.g., lack of reciprocation). It is these more complex, cognition-based emotions that we most clearly associate with the human sense of justice and morality.”27 Chimpanzees have been charac-terized as the only species to exhibit revenge where individuals “tend to intervene against individuals who intervene against themselves.”28 Instead of risking injury by retaliating against more dominant individuals, subordinate chimpanzees oft en wait for opportunities to attack more dominant individuals while they are engaged in confl icts with others.29 So if chimpanzees are capable of engaging in behavior that we could label as revenge, it is possible that their behavior may have more in common with subaltern genocide than it initially appears.

Like our primate relatives, there certainly exists the potential in modern humans to commit violent coalitionary aggressive behavior, and that potential has a distinctly evolutionary basis. Humans have the genetic potential to act in ways that have been favored by natural selection and evolution, and in some cases that means committing lethal acts against other humans. In most cases, humans lack the physical strength to engage in lethal hand-to-hand combat as do chimpan-zees, and hence must rely on tools for our aggressive encounters—which makes our aggressive behavior more deadly than that of any nonhuman. Given that we all have the evolutionary predisposition to commit lethal violence under certain circumstances, why is there variation in the expression of this capacity? Why are not all humans genocidal? What are the constraints that limit the expression of this evolved capacity?

Here we must invoke two additional factors to explain our behavior: our experience during sensitive developmental periods in our early life, and the sociocultural and environmental circumstances in which we fi nd ourselves as adults. It is certainly a widely accepted fact that aggressive behavior expressed in adulthood is infl uenced by the type of environment in which we grow up, and that the environment has many subtle elements including parents, siblings, early educational experiences, diff erent parenting practices, and so on.30 Th is devel-opmental underpinning of aggressive behavior has been well studied by social scientists, and while there is much left to understand, it is clear that growing up in an environment where critical resources (food, shelter, care, comfort) are limited


174

and unpredictable contributes signifi cantly to the likelihood of the expression of uncontrolled aggressive and antisocial behavior as an adult. But is a particular type of early experience the fi nal arbiter of adult behavior? Absolutely not.

Even though individuals may have had a developmental experience that enhances the probability that they will commit violent acts, the last ingredient must also be in place, and that is a sociocultural and environmental situation that allows for the expression of that behavior. Th ere are some environmental con-ditions that are particularly favorable for the expression of genocide, but these conditions are not suffi cient by themselves to cause it.

Conditions Promoting Genocide

Xenophobia

One of humans’ great adaptations is a reliance on culture as a fundamental deter-minant of our social behavior. Humans are successful because we live in groups and have developed cultural traits that enhance the benefi ts of group living. But there is a cost to sociality, and that is prejudice and intolerance toward nongroup members. It is clear that in our evolutionary past, xenophobia was adaptive and fi tness-enhancing. We can imagine that nongroup members posed a threat for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was their potential for commandeering critical resources (food, territory, mates), their potential for providing misinfor-mation about the location of necessary future resources (locations of water holes, game paths, salt licks), and their potential challenge to other cultural beliefs (symbolic identity, supernatural powers) by polluting them with outside infl u-ences. It is relatively easy to imagine that the chance meeting of two proto-human bands could have a violent outcome.

On the other hand, we do not greet all strangers with violence and hostility. Th e diff erence seems to be in the recognition of kin relationships and imme-diate inferred intent. Anthropologists have long been interested in rituals and greetings between humans because it is in the context of these encounters that potentially lethal interactions can occur but oft en do not. For example, among the Tuareg, nomads living in the Western Sahara, encounters between individu-als are rare but are culturally defi ned. Since visibility in the desert is generally good (save for the occasional simoon or scirocco), it is usually quite easy to spot another traveler in the distance. Assessment of the intentions of a stranger begins immediately upon sighting. First, there is an assessment of the posture and rid-ing style of the other, the type of camel, the direction of travel, and so on. Closer approach calls for an escalation of threat assessment techniques and fi nally, when the two individuals are literally within arm’s reach of each other, they start to identify common kin relations.31 Such rituals of greeting and assessment have long been the providence of anthropologists,32 and such research has demon-strated not only the importance of fi rst impressions, but the ability of strangers to identify kin relations as a way of avoiding confl ict.

E. O. Smith

175

Th e diff erential treatment of those to whom we are genetically related has a long and distinguished evolutionary history, ranging from bees and wasps to naked mole rats and to the apes. Since we share some proportion of our genes with our siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and so on, it behooves us to treat them diff er-ently than we would a totally unrelated individual. Th is diff erential treatment of relatives enhances our own indirect fi tness, as previously discussed.

It is interesting to see how our reliance on culture has amplifi ed and elabo-rated this potential. Our culture allows us to share fundamental aspects of group identity (kinship, if you will) and in turn to treat members of our group as our kin, whether or not genetic relatedness exists. Hence we have moved beyond the level of groups of individuals who are genetically related, to larger coalitions that rely on culture to trick us into believing all our group members are kin. Th is trick-ery has been extraordinarily important in the course of human evolution because it allowed individuals who were not related to form alliances and coalitions that would have been impossible based solely on true kinship. As I have suggested, the cost of this trickery is a widespread intolerance for “nonkin” individuals, but that cost is no diff erent than without trickery. Our xenophobic response to nongroup members was certainly adaptive during the course of our evolution, but what was once highly adapted has proven to be quite costly in modern society. In fact, one would predict that the greater the degree of kin recognition among members of a coalition or alliance, the greater the tendency would be to fi ght in support of other group members. Rephrasing slightly, it may be that the more susceptible to the trickery of evolution, the greater the potential for intergroup aggression.33

Limited Availability of High Value Concentrated Resources

External environmental and social factors also contribute to creating an environ-ment in which subaltern genocide could fl ourish. In addition to our xenophobic tendencies, living in an environment where there are limited high value resources is likely to exacerbate any predispositions we might have. We know that the dis-tribution of resources plays a vital role in the behavior of our nonhuman primate relatives, and it is the lack of access to critical resources that dictates much of human behavior as well. Subaltern groups are oft en characterized by their lack of access to critical resources, and it has been suggested that much of the humiliation and envy they suff er is directly attributable to diff erential resource allocation.34

Other Individual and Social Problems

Other individual factors have also been implicated in the likelihood of the occur-rence of genocide (e.g., relative importance of social status and authority, degree of acceptance of social identity and acceptance of in-group and out-group boundaries, susceptibility to social infl uence). In addition, authors have noted that a destabiliz-ing political crisis will also enhance the probability of genocide.35 While it is unlikely that any of these contributing factors would inevitably lead to populations commit-ting genocide, the confl uence of several of them has oft en proven suffi cient.


176

Relevance of the Comparative Data

It is clear that when environmental conditions are encountered that tip the cost-benefi t equation toward benefi ts, both long and short term, chimpanzees as well as humans are capable of lethal aggression. While genocide as a behavioral prac-tice has been viewed as a struggle between the powerful and powerless,36 from a chimpanzee’s perspective it is clear that any individual will take advantage of an opportunity to enhance its reproductive success. If you are male, it is by recruit-ment of females, or if you are a female it is by accumulation of resources which can be translated into more or healthier off spring.

Th e real value of the comparative data is to demonstrate the capacity of all individuals to commit lethal violence under the right set of circumstances. Chimpanzees are particularly calculating in this regard, and only kill conspecifi cs when the probability of success is high and the risk of injury is low. For chimpan-zees, it is not a question of individual fi ghting ability, but of the combined fi ghting abilities of a coalition of individuals against a single victim. If this cost/benefi t assessment is an intrinsic part of the expression of lethal levels of aggression in primates, then it should not surprise us that humans follow similar paths. Th is is to say that under the right set of developmental, ecological, and social condi-tions we all can express violent aggressive potential, as well as extreme submission; it simply takes a particular set of circumstances to elicit the behavior. A culture characterized by rigid status diff erentials and dominance relationships, wide-spread poverty, highly concentrated wealth among a small group of individuals, and clearly and rigidly divided cultural groups are conditions that provide the environment in which the human capacity for lethal aggression might be played out. Th ose individuals who are most disenfranchised economically, politically, and socially are likely to be the perpetrators.

An evolutionary perspective would predict that where such conditions exist, subaltern genocide is a possibility. Moreover, our comparative and evolution-ary perspective also suggests that subaltern genocide is possible where groups of people assess the probabilities of success (lethal aggression against the oppressor) and failure (risk of fatal injury) and those probabilities tip in favor of aggression. To state it more bluntly, subaltern genocide is not an inevitable consequence of oppression, but the potential for lethal aggression among the oppressed against the oppressors is a part of every human’s behavioral potential. When placed in a particular set of ecological, social, and political conditions, any individual is capable of subaltern genocide.

Th e Darwinian approach to genocide has a number of strengths that should make it relevant to genocide scholars. It is clear that humans have a long and distinguished evolutionary history of intraspecifi c violence. Lethal aggression is the ultimate expression of the capacity, but, as I have noted, it is not inevitable. If we can identify situations where there exist signifi cant diff erences in alloca-tion of resources, dominance and oppression of minority populations, exaggera-tion and emphasis on cultural themes of nationalism and distrust of nongroup members, then it may be possible to head off genocide before it starts. Failure to

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fully recognize that all humans have the capacity for genocide will undoubtedly resign us to witness its horror again.

What can we say about an evolutionary perspective on subaltern genocide? An evolutionary perspective tells us that in order to understand something that has such deep historical roots as seen in various forms of genocide, we need to look at the larger picture of human evolution to make any sense out of this seemingly maladaptive behavior. Over evolutionary time, organisms have been favored by natural selection to act in ways that allowed them to survive, reproduce, and see that their off spring reproduced. Any anatomical, physiological, or behavioral trait that aided in the process was carried along with genes into the next generation. Human ancestors who were slightly more willing to aid a relative, even if they recognized the relationship or not, were actually helping their own genes survive. We need not impute conscious choice in the decision-making process to give aid to another; it is simply that those who did off er aid to relatives survived in greater numbers than those who did not. Once the practice of aiding kin was established, it provided a powerful set of rules that would guide much of human behavior.

We also know that because an individual human is no match for a variety of the predators present during our evolutionary history, the only way that humans could be successful was to band together into small groups where they could enjoy considerable advantage over many other larger and stronger animals. In addition, social living provided immense advantages in other competitive are-nas with larger groups dominating smaller groups, and groups developing a host of social customs that fostered intragroup loyalty and intergroup hostility. It is easy to imagine that individuals who were the most articulate and persuasive would enjoy high status along with individuals who possessed certain cognitive or physical skills that enhanced the welfare of all individuals in the group. It is also easy to imagine that occasionally there existed a conspiracy of factors creat-ing an environment that was favorable for genocide. Historically, the powerful have generally succeeded in eliminating the less powerful, but there are occa-sions when the less powerful have banded together to carry out lethal aggression against their oppressors. We have reviewed the evidence that coalitions are an important part of the social fabric for many primate societies and in particular chimpanzees. We have also noted the potential for chimpanzees to engage in coalitionary killing both within their own group but more oft en of males from other groups. Th is is not surprising if one accepts the Darwinian argument that any of us have the potential to commit lethal aggression under the right circum-stances. To think that the social forces that shape society preclude any particular segment from the predisposition to commit lethal aggression is naïve at best. Th e important point of this chapter is that we all have the potential to engage in genocide, subaltern or not, under the right set of circumstances.

It should come as no surprise that the oppressed have turned on their oppres-sors with astonishing ferocity. Where circumstances favor the expression of geno-cide, we should always be mindful of the potential for the expression of subaltern


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genocide with considerable rapidity if circumstances allow it. Recognizing the panhuman nature of our behavioral potential for lethal aggression should alert us to the possibility that any human group, if placed in the right environmental, political, and social circumstances, can commit astonishingly brutal behavior.

So what conclusions can be drawn from this discussion of lethal aggression in chimpanzees and its relevance to human subaltern genocide? To answer the questions initially posed: Are humans the only animal species in which some groups wage genocide against their oppressors? It seems that while there are similarities to coalitionary killing in chimpanzees, subaltern genocide among humans is an elaboration on a theme rather than something that is fundamen-tally distinct from chimpanzee behavior. We know that subaltern genocide may be motivated by similar fundamental impulses, but it is oft en an individ-ual behavior in humans, and never a behavior committed by single individu-als among chimpanzees. No instances of dyadic lethal encounters have ever been recorded among chimpanzees. Of course, our use of weapons changes the cost/benefi t ratio of such interactions to allow for individuals to carry out lethal aggression with considerably reduced risk of harm when compared to chimpan-zees. It is also reasonable to conclude that human culture and our reliance on learned behavior have shaped and molded the evolutionary predispositions into the forms of genocide seen today. While there is no gene for genocide, there is strong evidence that there are evolutionary predispositions that we share with our closest primate relatives that allow for the expression of this type of violent aggressive behavior, and these predispositions have been elaborated in the con-text of human culture.

Notes 1. Goodall, Th e Chimpanzees of Gombe, 507–10. 2. Tooby and Cosmides, “Th e Psychological Foundations of Culture.” 3. Watson, Behaviorism, 82. 4. Scott, Weapons of the Weak. 5. Hamilton, “Th e Genetical Evolution of Social Behaviour. I” and “Th e Genetical

Evolution of Social Behaviour. II.” 6. Imagine the case of one sibling in a large family entering the priesthood. In doing

so this individual foregoes the possibility of any direct fi tness, but his overall fi tness could be considerably greater than zero due to the indirect fi tness eff ects of the reproductive eff orts of his siblings.

7. Darwin, On the Origin of Species By Means of Natural Selection or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life, 445.

8. Charlat, Ballard, and Mercot, “What Maintains Noncytoplasmic Incompatibility Inducing Wolbachia in Th eir Hosts,” 322–30; Joshi, Castillo, and Mueller, “Th e Contri bu-tion of Ancestry, Chance, and Past and Ongoing Selection to Adaptive Evolution,” 147–62; Pyle and Richmond, “Genetic Basis of Aristal Morphology in Drosophila Melanogaster and Its Correlation with Behavior,” 297.

9. Betzig, Despotism and Diff erential Reproduction; Betzig, Mulder, and Turke, Human Reproductive Behaviour; Chisholm, Death, Hope, and Sex; Ellison, Reproductive Ecology and Human Evolution; Short, “On the Evolution of Human Reproduction,” 5.

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10. Campbell, A Mind of Her Own; Daly and Wilson, Th e Truth about Cinderella; Ellis and Bjorklund, Origins of the Social Mind.

11. Buss and Shackelford, “Human Aggression in Evolutionary Psychological Per-spective,” 605; van der Dennen, Th e Origin of War; Wrangham and Peterson, Demonic Males; Wrangham, Wilson, and Muller, “Comparative Rates of Violence in Chimpanzees and Humans,” 14.

12. I have excluded infanticide from these analyses because it is clear that there are very diff erent evolutionary strategies in play when it comes to killing of particular infants.

13. Hausfater and Hrdy, Infanticide: Comparative and Evolutionary Perspectives; van Schaik and Janson, Infanticide by Males and Its Implications.

14. Species include Mongolian gerbils (Meriones unguiculatus), wild rabbits (Oryc-to lagus cuniculus), Hanuman langurs (Presbytis entellus), meadow voles (Microtus penn-sylvanicus), howler monkeys (Alouatta palliata), lions (Panthera leo), crab-eating macaques (Macaca fascicularis), chacma baboons (Papio ursinus), chimpanzees (Pan troglodytes), brown bears (Ursus arctos), as well as a variety of other rodents, mammals, and birds.

15. Baker and Smuts, “Social Relationships of Female Chimpanzees,” 227; de Waal, “Sex Diff erences in the Formation of Coalitions Among Chimpanzees,” 239.

16. Newton-Fisher, “Female Coalitions Against Male Aggression in Wild Chimpan-zees of the Budongo Forest,” 1589.

17. Ibid., 1591.18. Nishida and Hosaka, “Coalition Strategies among Adult Male Chimpanzees of

the Mahale Mountains, Tanzania”; Riss and Goodall, “Th e recent rise to the alpha-rank in a population of free-living chimpanzees,” 134; Watts, “Reciprocity and Interchange in the Social Relationships of Wild Male Chimpanzees,” 343.

19. Riss and Goodall, “Th e Recent Rise to the Alpha-Rank in a Population of Free-Living Chimpanzees,” 137.

20. Nishida, “Review of Recent Findings on Mahale Chimpanzees.”21. Wrangham, “Evolution of Coalitionary Killing,” 1.22. Roscoe, “Intelligence, Coalitional Killing, and the Antecedents of War,” 485;

Wilson, Wallauer, and Pusey, “New Cases of Intergroup Violence among Chimpanzees in Gombe National Park, Tanzania,” 523; Watts, “Intracommunity Coalitionary Killing of an Adult Male Chimpanzee at Ngogo, Kibale National Park, Uganda,” 507; Wilson and Wrangham, “Intergroup Relations in Chimpanzees,” 363; Wrangham, “Evolution of Coalitionary Killing,” 2.

23. In the study of animal behavior, philopatry (Greek, “home-loving”) is the ten-dency of an animal to return to or remain in a specifi c location in order to breed or feed. Philopatry can manifest itself in several ways, and can be applied to more than just the area in which an animal was born. Species that return to their birthplace in order to breed are said to exhibit natal philopatry. Species that return in consecutive years to the same breeding site or territory exhibit breeding philopatry or site fi delity. Philopatry is generally believed to be an adaptation to a specifi c set of environmental circumstances.

24. See the example in the fi rst paragraphs of this chapter.25. Reciprocal altruism is a form of altruism in which one organism provides a

benefi t to another without any immediate compensatory benefi t, but with the expectation that the altruistic act will be repaid in the future.

26. Trivers, “Th e Evolution of Reciprocal Altruism,” 35.27. de Waal, “Th e Chimpanzee’s Sense of Social Regularity and Its Relation to the

Human Sense of Justice,” 342.28. de Waal and Luttrell, “Mechanisms of Social Reciprocity in Th ree Primate Spe-

cies,” 114.29. Ibid., 115.


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30. Anderson and Bushman, “Human Aggression,” 27; Cairns, “Aggression from a Developmental Perspective”; Constantino, “Early Relationships and the Development of Aggression in Children,” 259; Ramirez, “Hormones and Aggression in Childhood and Adolescence,” 621; Tremblay, “Th e Development of Aggressive Behaviour During Childhood,” 129.

31. Youssouf, Grimshaw, and Bird, “Greetings in the Desert,” 797.32. Firth, “Verbal and Bodily Rituals of Greeting and Parting”; Goff man, Th e Pre-

sentation of Self in Everyday Life.33. Brannigan, “Criminology and the Holocaust,” 257. See Cashdan, “Ethnocentrism

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Rwanda,” 571; Niazi, “Th e Ecology of Genocide in Rwanda,” 223.35. Woolf and Hulsizer, “Psychosocial Roots of Genocide,” 101.36. Freeman, “Puritans and Pequots,” 278; Longman, “Genocide and Socio-Political

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“When the Rabbit’s Got the Gun”Subaltern Genocide and the Genocidal Continuum

ADAM JONES

In seminal essays published in 2002 for collections edited by Jeanette Mageo and Alexander Hinton, the anthropologist Nancy Scheper-Hughes described her provocative concept of a “genocidal continuum.” Derived from her long-

standing anthropological research—“a concern with popular consent to everyday violence”—Scheper-Hughes described “a multitude of ‘small wars and invisible genocides’” occurring in various “normative social spaces.” Institutional settings (jails, old-age homes, and the like) were especially prone to violent acts and relationships that contained at least a kernel of genocide, in the sense that they exhibited in a smaller-scale or more localized form some of the same ideological and symbolic frameworks, similar patterns of demonization and scapegoating, and exclusions from the sphere of social obligation as fully fl edged genocidal outbreaks. Th ey also pointed to the way that a genocidal potential was latent and pervasive in societies, available for activation in mass-killing campaigns. Th ese “less dramatic, permitted, everyday” acts and atrocities were tied to the human capacity for “social exclusion, dehumanization, depersonalization, pseudo-spe-ciation, and reifi cation that normalize atrocious behavior and violence toward others.” Given the presence of these ideological and institutional features of our environment, Scheper-Hughes argued that we must “exercise a defensive hyper-vigilance, a hypersensitivity” to the “genocidal capacity” of human beings; and recognize how strategies of marginalization, anathematization, and exclusion “make participation (under other conditions) in genocidal acts possible, perhaps more easy than we would like to know.”

Some of the more directly or destructively violent manifestations of Scheper-Hughes’s “genocidal continuum” approach or even cross the threshold of genocide as it is broadly understood. For example, she explores the “social cleansings” of thousands of street children, prostitutes, and transgendered peo-ple in urban areas of Latin America and elsewhere—cleansings carried out by selective murder on a substantial scale. Her framework also seems highly use-ful in exploring structural and institutional forms of violence, including geno-cidal and “gendercidal” violence.1 In this chapter, I seek to apply the notion of a “genocidal continuum” to subaltern genocide—looking at latent, symbolic, and

9

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Table 9.1 The Continuum of Subaltern Genocide

localized expressions as well as overt, systematic, and massively destructive ones (see Table 9.1).

Many subaltern motifs at points (1) and (2) on the continuum take the form of what the Yale political scientist James Scott called “acts of everyday resistance” deploying “weapons of the weak.”2 Oft en there is an added element of ritualized play or performance, symbolized, for example, by the radical symbolic inversions of the world’s “carnival” traditions. Many of these originated as managed forms of libidinal release through fi esta—a “safety valve” for a manifestly unjust social order. To the extent that such performances are politically coherent, they serve a cathartic or wish-fulfi llment function—somewhat similar to the minor “androci-dal” strain of feminist science fi ction touched on below in this chapter.

Accordingly, I do not wish to overstress the “proto-genocidal” character of certain ritual forms and expressions. However, it would be equally unwise to dis-miss this dimension as merely marginal or purely symbolic. At particular times, and in particular contexts where the dominant-subaltern relationship is destabi-lized or inverted, the consequences may be explosively violent and destructive. At points (3), (4), and (5) on the continuum as sketched in Table 9.1, real-world and physical consequences increase notably. Th e scale of atrocity may be substantial: riots and pogroms3 infl icted on “middleman” groups and other privileged minor-

Context (1)Subaltern popular culture

(2)Subaltern interac-tion with dominant culture

(3)Niches of subaltern dominance

(4)Local and/or tempo-rary unrest

(5)Generalized and/or protracted confl ict

Content Songs, writings (incl. slogans, graffi ti, pam-phlets), jokes, gossip, rumors, curses/vulgarities, children’s stories

“Everyday forms of resistance” (Scott); inversion rituals (carnivals, bacchana-lias, etc.); indi-vidual hate crimes and hate-infl uenced crimes

Patterned and per-vasive acts of physical and sexual assault; tor-ture, mur-der; local (micro) regimes and rituals of domi-nation, deg-radation, humilia-tion, dehu-manization

Riots, pogroms, witch-hunts, vigilante campaigns, genocidal massacres

Systematic campaigns of genocide and crimes against humanity; generalized (macro) regimes of genocide and mass atrocity with a subaltern-infl ected “foundation myth”

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ities the world over; acts of terrorism and suicide-bombing against western civil-ians by humiliated, vengeful subaltern actors of the Global South; the rape and gang-rape of white prisoners by black inmates in U.S. prisons; and the murder and mutilation of Afrikaner farmers and their families in South Africa.

Th e following sections of the chapter provide examples of symbolic/perfor-mative acts and institutions along the continuum of subaltern genocide, followed by more directly violent ones, including mass atrocity. I consider the theoretical and practical implications of the framework, including those for genocide pre-vention, in the conclusion.

Performance

Carnivals and Curses

“Always new, always changing, always multivalent,”4 carnival is one of the most remarkable and complex of human ritual expressions. At its heart is a “parodis-tic and profane inversion of canonized values”5 and sacrosanct social relation-ships: slaves parade as masters, women as men, poor as rich. In colonial New Amsterdam (New York) in the seventeenth century, slave carnivals “included symbolic role reversals . . . in which blacks dressed in their masters’ clothing and rode their masters’ horses,” together with “the election of black kings and judges.” On the face of it, this symbolically evoked the deepest fears of over-lords—fears of overthrow, annihilation, and usurpation by the dark subaltern masses. Yet by confi ning this subaltern expression within strict temporal and physical boundaries, and by making cathartic inversion contingent on quotid-ian servitude, subaltern status was confi rmed and ritually renewed. “Disorder implies order,” as David Brion Davis points out; and Saturnalia and similar ritu-als “reinforced the basic structures of authority.”6 From another perspective, however—that of subaltern actors—they kept vividly alive the vision of a uto-pian reversal of fortune.7

Fundamental to this constraining and confi ning of the subaltern is the con-fi nement of that utopian dream, for fear that the licentious and subversive aspects of carnival may break their bonds, fi nding expression as orgiastic violence against oppressors. German psychologist Florenz Christian Rang located, in carnival’s “will to frenzy,” the threat of the “terrible outbreak of human rabidity. . . . In the mystery ritual of masked nocturnal dances and rebellious frenzy there is per-formed every despicable act, every murder, every form of excess that licentiousness and lunacy have dared to dream.”8 Th e rhetoric here may be exaggerated, but there does seem to be a combustibility at the heart of carnival. It is well captured by the greatest scholar of subaltern codes of resistance and rebellion, James C. Scott. He describes carnival as “something of a lightning rod for all sorts of social tensions and animosities,” both “a festival of the physical senses” and “a festival of spleen and bile.” Carnival is “the outcome of social confl ict, not the unilateral creation of elites” as a social safety-valve; “what is striking historically about

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carnival is not how it contributed to the maintenance of existing hierarchies, but how frequently it was the scene of open social confl ict.”9

Scott has provided an unparalleled, almost anthropological catalogue of symbolic forms of resistance, born of subaltern oppression and frustration and the complex negotiations with hegemonic actors. Several of these have a car-nival-like dimension. For example, victories by black athletes over white ones “legitimately allowed the black community to vicariously and publicly savor” a rare niche of subaltern dominance:

Th e fi ght between Jack Johnson and Jim Jeff ries (the “White hope”) in 1910 and Joe Louis’s subsequent career, which was aided by instant radio transmis-sion of the fi ghts, were indelible moments of reversal and revenge for the black community. “When Johnson battered a white man (Jeff ries) to his knees, he was the symbolic black man taking out his revenge on all whites for a lifetime of indignities.” . . . In the fl ush of their jubilation, blacks became momentarily bolder in gesture, speech, and carriage, and this was seen by much of the white community as a provocation, a breach of the public transcript.10

Scott also points to the phenomenon of schadenfreude (“joy at the misfor-tunes of others”), which may be palpable when social relations are dramatically inverted. “Th is represents a wish for negative reciprocity, a settling of scores when the high shall be brought low and the last shall be fi rst.” Finally, Scott reminds us of the institution of the elaborate curse. Th is is “an open prayer” which embodies “an intricate and lovingly ornate vision of revenge,” as with this example collected in the Deep South of the United States, some decades aft er the abolition of slavery:

I pray that death and disease shall be forever with them and that their crops shall not multiply and their cows, their sheep, their hogs and all their living pos-sessions shall die of starvation and thirst. . . . I pray that their friends shall betray them and cause them loss of power, of gold and of silver, and that their enemies shall smite them until they beg for mercy, which shall not be given then. . . . O Man God, I ask you for all these things because they have dragged me in the dust and destroyed my good name; broken my heart and caused me to curse the day that I was born. So be it.11

Scott notes, incidentally, that the curse was cited by African American writer Alice Walker as an explanation for “why many blacks were not much interested” in anti-nuclear activism during the 1980s: “Th eir ‘hope for revenge’ made them look on nuclear destruction brought about by a white-ruled world with equa-nimity if not malevolent pleasure. One has, she implies, no right expecting civic spiritedness from those whose experience of community has mostly been that of victims.”12

Androcidal Feminism

Males may feel grateful that the subaltern status of females worldwide has so rarely prompted women to infl ict violence upon men as such—certainly not on a large scale. However, there are plenty of examples in the historical and sociologi-

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cal record of women’s participation in large-scale violence against out-group pop-ulations—women, men, and children alike. Th e torture of captives was a female monopoly in many Native American tribes. Kurdish women in the Armenian genocide, female Nazi camp offi cials, and Rwanda’s notorious female génocidaires all attest to women’s ready involvement in violence, including genocide, when they are permitted and encouraged to participate. An element of subaltern geno-cide is sometimes evident in such female-infl icted violence. Th e female génocid-aires of Rwanda, it seems, were regularly inspired by the same subaltern hostilities and humiliations experienced by Hutu men, translating to “a gendered jubilation at the comeuppance” of Tutsi women,13 depicted as Rwanda’s sexual elite (see chapter 6). Closer investigation of the dynamics of female-infl icted violence in situations of localized subaltern dominance (point (3) on the continuum) may be merited, especially to discern whether violence meted out to males contains an element of pent-up subaltern frustration.

For present purposes, however, my interest lies in the fringe of female cul-tural performances that may be called “androcidal feminism.” Th ese cultural products envisage, and usually depict as desirable, a world cleansed of men and masculinities. Possibly the most notorious work of 1960s feminist agitprop is Valerie Solanas’s SCUM Manifesto, recently reissued with a long and informa-tive introduction by Avital Ronell.14 Solanas circulated on the margins of Andy Warhol’s cultural “Factory” in the mid-to-late 1960s. Aside from an appearance in one of Warhol’s fi lms and a failed attempt at publishing a play, she worked on the manifesto of the “Society for Cutting Up Men”—SCUM—exploring her vision of a world stripped by mass extermination and systematic cultural eff acement, of men and putatively masculine traits. Solanas is also notorious for shooting Warhol very nearly to death (and wounding another man) in an attack originally aimed at her (male) publisher. She served three years in prison for the crime, and aft er her release lived destitute and schizophrenic in San Francisco, dying there in 1988.

In her fascist-infl ected SCUM Manifesto,15 Solanas wrote that men are “defi -cient, emotionally limited . . . cripples.” Th ey “want to be squashed, stepped on, crushed and crunched, treated as the curs, the fi lth that they are, have their repul-siveness confi rmed. . . . Just as humans have a prior right to existence over dogs by virtue of being more highly evolved and having a superior consciousness, so women have a prior right to existence over men. Th e elimination of any male is, therefore, a righteous and good act, an act highly benefi cial to women as well as an act of mercy.”16 Possibly, direct acts of elimination would be “academic,” Solanas railed, given that men were busy engineering their own annihilation through “wars and race riots,” “becoming fags,” and “obliterating themselves through drugs.” It was the destiny of any surviving males to “exist out their puny days dropped out on drugs or strutting around in drag or passively watching the high-powered female in action, fulfi lling themselves as spectators, vicarious livers or breeding in the cow pasture with the toadies, or they can go off to the nearest friendly suicide center where they will be quietly, quickly, and painlessly gassed to death.”17


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Th e reactions to Solanas’s Manifesto ranged from predictable hostility and contempt to amusement, and even a surprising degree of praise and admiration. Four decades aft er its appearance, the Manifesto still crackles and cackles with the “castrative glee” born of what Ronell has termed Solanas’s “primal sense of injury.” Th e Manifesto was fl ung into the public domain as “payback . . . to all shameless woman-hating manifestos” ever issued, Ronell writes. Th is sense of the value of the subaltern scream or counter-scream—albeit from a psychologically distressed individual—may explain the signifi cant support and solidarity that feminists dis-played aft er Solanas’s attempted murder of two men. Th e well-known radical fem-inist writer Robin Morgan lobbied for her release from jail. Ti-Grace Atkinson, the New York president of the National Organization for Women (NOW), praised Solanas as the “fi rst outstanding champion of women’s rights,” and feminist law-yer Florynce Kennedy likewise declared her “one of the most important spokes-women of the feminist movement.”18 Th e subaltern genocidal fantasy of the Manifesto retains a place in the pantheon of women’s studies. I have, aft er all, been citing from a new and handsome edition, published by a mainstream-left pub-lisher (Verso), and introduced by a noted New York professor.

We may also note, in this context, the androcidal strain in feminist science-fi ction utopias, most prominently exemplifi ed by the books of Joanna Russ. In Russ’s 1975 novel Th e Female Man, the hero Jael “has turned her body into a kill-ing-machine through plastic surgery and metal implants,” according to Jeanne Cortiel, and directed it to explicitly androcidal ends. Jael “uses her hatred and vindictiveness [toward men] as an instrument in a violent resolution of the sex-antagonism and the reappropriation of her sense of self.” “Murder is my one way out,” Jael declares. “For every drop of blood shed there is restitution made; with every truthful refl ection in the eyes of a dying man I get back a little of my soul.” Cortiel, who calls Th e Female Man “probably the most outstanding feminist sci-ence fi ction novel of the decade,” depicts these androcidal themes as “a celebration of Jael’s physical power, an atrocious violation of the male body” that mirrors the violation of women implicit, for Russ, in patriarchal sexual relations. “Mercilessly destroying the male body, she transfers women’s physical and psychological pain to him.”19

Atrocity

In shift ing from the symbolic/performative to the atrocious, we court two dan-gers. One, examined in greater detail below, is that we ignore the qualitative con-nections between the genres. Th e other, paradoxically, is that we too easily assume a causal connection between the points on the continuum—that subaltern fan-tasies and imaginings “prime” a genocidal situation. I believe they frequently do, but this needs to be argued and supported in given cases, and clear demonstra-tions of cause and eff ect may prove elusive.

Regardless, we have witnessed in this volume numerous instances of subal-tern identifi cations fueling genocidal outcomes. Th e cases examined below seem,

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for the most part, clear examples of qualitatively similar atrocities spawned by subaltern hatred, envy, and vengefulness—though without assuming the propor-tions and systematic character normally associated with full-blown genocidal campaigns.

“Understandably Very Angry”: Jews over Germans

We saw in the introduction to this volume that Nazism was animated by a phan-tasmagorical vision of the world-dominating Jew as single-mindedly dedicated to the destruction of the German people. As the Nazi holocaust unfolded in Europe, however, the intensity of its violence prompted an extreme ideology of vengeance among many Jews—leading, in a small number of cases, to coherent plans for the obliteration of Germany, and violence on a signifi cant scale.

Th ere is an analytical issue to confront in addressing the cases of Jewish sub-altern violence against Germans as such. To what extent is it legitimate to depict actions by a self-identifi ed Jewish person as motivated by his or her Jewishness (and thus, in the context of wartime Europe, the subaltern status that attached to it)? Consider the most detailed manifesto for the annihilation of Germans as a people: Germany Must Perish! a 1941 book by the American Jewish writer Th eodore N. Kaufman. Writing to press the United States to enter the war, in a work published a few months before the nation did so, Kaufman likened Germans to “savage beast[s],” “wild animals,” and “poisonous reptiles.” Th e German state, which had “forfeit[ed] its own national life” by seeking to destroy others, had to be extinguished. And Germans themselves should be exterminated—not by anything so repugnant as “massacre and wholesale execution,” but through a meticulous campaign of “Eugenic Sterilization.” Th is could only “be considered a great health measure promoted by humanity to immunize itself forever against the virus of Germanism.”20

It is hardly surprising that Joseph Goebbels, seizing a golden propaganda opportunity, promoted Kaufman in Germany as a powerful fi gure of international Jewry, and “the quintessential representation of the mentality of ‘the enemy.’”21 But like Valerie Solanas in 1960s New York, Kaufman was a socially marginal fi gure—nothing more than “an independent, understandably very angry Jewish writer,” as Jeff rey Herf writes (emphasis added). Moreover, in Germany Must Perish! Kaufman in no way positioned himself as a Jewish commentator who was especially concerned about the Nazi threat to Jews. Th us, wherever one might locate such wild fantasies on the genocidal continuum, it is uncertain whether they could reasonably be situated along a continuum of subaltern genocide.

Where an explicit element of violent Jewish revenge was present, however, a subaltern framing may be demonstrably valid. One such case concerns the deaths of tens of thousands of German prisoners at the end of World War II and in its immediate aft ermath. In his controversial book An Eye for an Eye: Th e Story of Jews Who Sought Revenge for the Holocaust, journalist John Sack examined how the Offi ce of State Security in Kattowitz, Poland, with its network of hundreds of detention centers, fell under the control of predominantly Jewish offi cers. Many


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were Auschwitz survivors. Th ese Jews, Sack writes (in his sometimes melodra-matic style), “felt their blood boiling, or their muscles curling, or their bones ach-ing with hate for the German murderers.” Th ey unleashed that hatred “in 1945 [by killing] a great number of Germans: not Nazis, not Hitler’s trigger men, but German civilians, German men, women, children, babies, whose ‘crime’ was just to be Germans.”

Much of the violence displayed the subaltern codes that are familiar from the discussion in chapters 1 and 2. One female administrator of a network of pris-ons and detention centers “saw that she could turn the hierarchy of Auschwitz upside-down.” Specifi c punishments emphasized and symbolized the victory of the previously oppressed. At the Schwientochlowitz camp, Shlomo Morel pre-sided over a murderous regime founded on ubiquitous assaults and atrocities against German captives: “Th e guards put the Germans into a doghouse, beating them if they didn’t say ‘Bow wow.’ Th ey got the Germans to beat each other . . . they raped the German women . . . and trained their dogs to bite off the German men’s genitals at the command of ‘Sic!’ . . . In time, three-fourths of the Germans at Shlomo’s camp were dead.”22

Th is was probably the largest real-world example of a subaltern-genocidal tendency in postwar Jewish violence against German civilians. It was not, how-ever, the most remarkable one. Th at designation belongs to Nakam (Revenge), the organization studied by Tom Segev in Th e Seventh Million: Th e Israelis and the Holocaust. Nakam, founded by the former partisan fi ghter Abba Kovner at war’s end, was based in Europe, with a presence in the Jewish émigré community in Palestine. Kovner eventually rallied dozens of mostly younger Jewish fi ghters to his call for a revenge that “had to precisely equal the dimensions of the crime. Kovner therefore set [the deaths of ] six million German citizens as his goal. He thought in apocalyptic terms: revenge was a holy obligation that would redeem and purify the Jewish people.”

Th e plan was to be implemented through mass poisonings of water systems in a number of German cities; agents were actually dispatched to waterworks in Nuremberg and Hamburg to prepare for the introduction of toxins brought from Palestine. Soldiers of the Jewish Brigade of the Haganah assisted in procur-ing the poison. Its shipment to Europe was interrupted, however—likely derailed by other Jewish leaders who strongly disapproved of the plot’s extremism—and Kovner switched to “Plan B”: “to poison several thousand former SS men in the American army’s POW camps.” Segev notes that Kovner’s followers had consid-erable diffi culty adjusting to the change in plan: “Th ey all believed they were going to kill six million Germans and now were being told to satisfy themselves with a thousand.” Arsenic-laced fl our was in fact introduced at one camp, seri-ously sickening a number of prisoners; Kovner pointed triumphantly to rumors that 400 had died.

In addition, a large number of Jewish killing teams roamed postwar Ger-many and other countries, summarily executing alleged Nazi war criminals and sometimes innocent civilians. All these guerrilla/terrorist forces explicitly posi-tioned themselves as Jewish avengers and subaltern exacters of revenge. Th ey

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included leading fi gures in the post-independence Israeli armed forces, one of whom—chief of staff Haim Laskov—justifi ed the “acts of revenge” as follows: “When it comes down to it, we lost the war. We lost six million Jews. Anyone who hasn’t seen those places, the concentration camps and crematoriums, can never understand what they did to us. Because we were weak, and did not have our own country, and did not have power, we avenged. . . . I’m sorry to say that we did not liquidate very many.”23

Subaltern Hate Crimes and “Market-Dominant Minorities”

It is impossible to gauge accurately the scale of crimes committed by subaltern actors which could be classifi ed as “hate crimes.” Black-on-white violence in the United States, considered below in the context of prison sexual assault, off ers a point of entry into the phenomenon. While issuing a strong warning about the “motley collection of white supremacists and rightist extremist groups [which] has eagerly made black-on-white violence a wedge issue in their crusade to paint blacks as the prime racial hatemongers in America,” Earl Ofari Hutchinson, the African American director of the National Alliance for Positive Action, acknowl-edged that “more whites than ever are the targets of racially motivated attacks by blacks.” In an article headlined “Why Are Black Leaders Silent on Black Hate Crimes?” Hutchinson wrote:

True, some of the attacks against whites by blacks are for their money and valu-ables. Others are revenge assaults by blacks for real or imagined racial insults. It is equally true that the vast majority of violent crimes against whites are com-mitted by other whites, while the vast majority of violent crimes against blacks are committed by other blacks. Yet even aft er discounting crimes that are hast-ily and erroneously tagged as racially motivated, many blacks do attack whites because they are white. A Justice Department study in 1998 confi rmed that nearly 20 percent of the hate crimes examined were committed against whites by black attackers. And the Southern Poverty Law Center has noted that black-on-white violence soared during the 1990s.24

As Hutchinson suggests, and as James Morsch has explored more systemati-cally,25 isolating the motive of racial or ethnic hatred in a given confl ict interac-tion or criminal act may be diffi cult. But a modest proposition seems sustainable: that many acts of criminal assault committed by minority actors, against major-ity or minority actors, seem to contain an element of hatred toward majorities, born of subaltern anger, frustration, and humiliation. We will see this expressed powerfully below in the case of prison sexual assaults. Many if not most of these attacks can be classed as “hate crimes” for their explicit dimension of subaltern vengeance and racial subjugation.26

Perhaps the most visible subaltern hate crimes in the contemporary North American experience occurred during the Los Angeles riots of 1992, following the acquittal of white policemen accused in the beating of black motorist Rodney King. In some black neighborhoods, “everybody that came through here that was not black was in trouble,” according to a gang member quoted in the Los


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Angeles Times—which noted that “white people . . . are suddenly afraid of being judged by the color of their skin.”27 Images of a white trucker pulled out of his cab and brutally beaten by black youths were eclipsed by the siege against Korean American residents. Th is also contained a pronounced dimension of subaltern rage. According to the New York Times, Korean Americans had become “over-whelmingly dominant” in the commercial life of Watts and other predominantly black neighborhoods: “Across much of the poorest area of the city, the only shops to buy groceries or liquor or gasoline, or to have clothes cleaned or a car repaired, are owned by Korean immigrants. Korean merchants had become a lightning rod for the discontent of some black residents. Many blacks in Los Angeles have remained poor as, one aft er another, immigrant groups have arrived and climbed past them to prosperity.”

Attacks on Korean persons and property spiraled throughout poor neigh-borhoods. “It’s illogical, but it’s convenient to target the Koreans,” said a member of the city’s Human Relations Commission. “Why were they burning the busi-nesses that serve them? Why has that anger not been vented at the educational system that has failed them? Why weren’t the employment offi ces burned to the ground?” One ethnic Korean described the events in terms pungent with the racial tensions affl icting Korean/African American relations: “I think the black people are jealous of the Koreans,” he said. “Th ey’re lazy; we are working hard. Th ey’re not making money; we are making money.”28 Kyeyoung Park’s research similarly found that “Koreans value themselves and explain their successes in terms of having ‘more culture’ (family unity, ethnic solidarity, education) than blacks.” Interestingly, “Blacks also present Koreans as having more culture than themselves,” which meshes with some of the dynamics of subaltern envy and humiliation explored by Evelin G. Lindner in this volume (see chapter 7).29

Prison Rape in the United States

For decades, the subject of male rape in prison and other settings was one of the last human rights “taboos.”30 Th e issue received limited scholarly and media attention, but no systematic study by leading human rights organizations until the investigation that produced, in 2001, the Human Rights Watch report No Escape: Male Rape in U.S. Prisons.31 While vividly depicting the rampant sexual violence against (and by) males in the world’s most populous prison system, No Escape also stressed a little-known element: the heavy concentration of white males among victims, and black and Latino males among the perpetrators. Th is was, moreover, no simple correlation (e.g., with black and Latino overrepre-sentation in prison populations). Rather, a powerful strain of subaltern revenge underpinned many such attacks. “Inter-racial sexual abuse is common only to the extent that it involves white non-Hispanic prisoners being abused by African Americans or Hispanics,” HRW noted. Th e organization’s own fi ndings con-fi rmed “past studies [that] have documented the prevalence of black on white sexual aggression in prison.” One black inmate off ered his thoughts on the target-ing of whites for sexual attack:

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Most [blacks] feel that the legal system is fundamentally racist and offi cers are the most visible symbol of a corrupt institution & with good reason. . . . Blacks know whites oft en associate crime with black people. Th ey see themselves as being used as scapegoats. . . . So is it any wonder that when a white man comes to prison, that blacks see him as a target.

Stereotypes are prevalent amongst blacks also that cause bad thinking. Th e belief that all or most white men are eff ete or gay is very prevalent, & that whites are cowards who have to have 5 or 6 more to take down one [black] dude. . . . Whites are prey and even a punk will be supported if he beats up a white dude.32

A selection of inmate testimonies gathered by HRW attested to the special vulnerability of inmates seen as representatives of the hegemonic regime outside prison walls, when they are confi ned in institutional settings where the rules are inverted and subaltern actors hold sway. Th e confi guration here is close to that of the Jewish-German camp dynamic sketched in the previous section. Th e sub-altern agents, though, are not in positions of offi cial responsibility. Th ey merely exploit an anarchic environment, in which guards do little or nothing to prevent physical and sexual attack, to create a localized hierarchy in which rape (oft en gang rape) serves as an explicit and vengeful message of political triumph and racial subjugation. Inmates off ered further insights into the dynamic:

In my experience having a “boy” (meaning white man) to a negro in prison is sort of a “trophy” to his fellow black inmates. And I think the roots of the prob-lem go back a long time ago to when the African Americans where [sic] in the bonds of slavery. Th ey have a favorite remark: “It ain’t no fun when the rabbit’s got the gun, is it?”

Gangs of black and spanish inmates are very angry at free-world white people for a variety of reasons, and this results in an attitude of vengeance towards white people in prisons.

Why prison sexual assault occurs: Part of it is revenge against what the non-white prisoners call, “Th e White Man,” meaning authority and the justice system. A common comment is, “y’all may run it out there, but this is our world!” More of it I think is the assaulters own insecurities and them trying to gain some respect in their peer group by showing that they “are a man.”33

“Y’all may run it out there, but this is our world.” Th e message seems closely parallel with the one transmitted to other dominant populations in contexts of subaltern hegemony, like the white farmers of post-Apartheid South Africa. Th eir plight constitutes the fi nal case of subaltern atrocity explored in this chapter.

A Genocide of Afrikaner Farmers?

In his 1999 novel Disgrace, Nobel Prize–winning author J. M. Coetzee describes the gang rape of Lucy, a rural white woman living alone, whose father, David, is the novel’s central character. David pleads with Lucy to abandon her isolated settlement. She refuses, though she knows it means her rapists are likely to


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return—probably regularly. “I think I am in their territory,” Lucy says. “Th ey will come back for me. . . . But . . . what if that is the price one has to pay for staying on? Perhaps this is how they look at it; perhaps that is how I should look at it too. Th ey see me as owing something. Th ey see themselves as debt collectors, tax col-lectors. Why should I be allowed to live here without paying?”

“Th ey want you for their slave,” her father protests. “Not slavery,” Lucy replies. “Subjection. Subjugation.”34

Th ere are echoes here of the decisions made, and self-justifi cations off ered, by individuals throughout history in the crisis conditions of war and genocide. A bargain may be struck with the subaltern-turned-oppressor—highly disadvanta-geous, perhaps, but permitting one to survive, and perhaps to remain in one’s home and native land. Whether the option is made available, however, varies from case to case. In many instances in the history of genocide, and in some rural areas of post-apartheid South Africa, it has not been off ered. Assault, massacre, and mutilation have reigned.

Th e post-1994 death toll of South African farmers in the killing campaign dubbed Plaasmoorde (farm murders) in Afrikaans now approaches 2,000. Most victims are white; most perpetrators are poor, young black males. Allegations have swirled of offi cial complicity in the killings—of “an orchestrated, government-sanctioned attempt to purge South Africa of White landowners, as has already happened in Zimbabwe”35—but these are unproven. Regardless of whether an organized political dimension is evident, though, a retributive element clearly is present: “revenge, fueled by racism and envy” is primary in the estimation of the Sunday Times, though subaltern frustration and humiliation seem equally likely sources.36 In the “post-Apartheid” period, patterns of wealth and property own-ership have altered only at a glacial pace, and white farmers are viewed by many as an obstacle to agrarian justice. South African theology professor B. J. van der Walt describes the dynamic in a way that corroborates Evelin Lindner’s emphasis on subaltern humiliation (chapter 7 in this volume):

Many black people (or their parents) have been humiliated on farms in diff erent ways by (racist) white farmers, inter alia by the way in which farmers spoke to them (even to older people among them) or the way they withheld fair wages from them. Such things probably hurt black people even more deeply than it would whites . . . because it brings shame on them and causes them to feel unworthy, it erodes their human dignity. Something like this can in no other way be put right but that the honour of the injured person has to be restored. Since this does not happen the feeling of shame and inferiority changes to anger and eventually revenge by oneself or a mediator (e.g. one’s children) who help one to revenge the disgrace. Th e revenge is determined by the extent to which your family member’s honour was injured by the farmer, the humiliation experi-enced. Th erefore it is sometimes cruel without anything being robbed. Revenge is facilitated further because (white) farmers belong to the “out-group,” that is, not to their own group towards whom the murderer has a sole obligation.37

As this account suggests, the element of subaltern rage seems evident in acts of “extreme violence, including rape, torture and physical mutilation” that

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regularly accompany the farm murders, including in cases where theft of prop-erty does not take place.38 “Th ere is a motive of hate crimes [present]” in many such attacks, according to Greg Stanton, current president of the International Association of Genocide Scholars. “Th ese people [victims] are tortured, mur-dered in ways that are dehumanizing.”39

Extensions and Implications

In this closing section, I consider some of the implications for genocide studies of the materials and perspectives presented in this chapter. Th is serves also as an informal conclusion to the volume. Many of the themes relevant to the contin-uum of subaltern genocide point additionally to the place of subaltern genocide in comparative genocide studies.

A prominent theme in genocide studies, and throughout this volume, is the role of millenarian and utopian ideologies. Th ese surely have a particular piquancy for those at the bottom of the social ladder. Lepore emphasizes that the ritual humiliations and mutilations meted out by perpetrators of subaltern genocide are intended to be not only destructive, but restorative: in the case of Native American atrocities, they were meant “to restore their world to a balance, to recover it from the chaos into which it had been falling ever since the English fi rst arrived.”40 In the present volume, for example, both Nicholas Robins’s chapter and my own (chapter 2) show how conquered and dispossessed indigenous populations harked back to a “golden age” of self-rule and cultural integrity in fomenting their great rebellions against colonial rule. Th e golden age is usually one of social justice and egalitarian-ism prior to the imposition of unjust, unequal social structures and relationships. We have seen in this volume subaltern actors mobilized by similar ideologies under the Khmer Rouge and Hutu Power in Rwanda. Th ere is nothing uniquely or distinctively subaltern about millenarianism and utopianism. But they do seem to have swept a number of subaltern populations as bottom-up phenomena. Even when they are imposed by leadership fi gures who are hardly drawn from subaltern ranks—they include Inca royal descendants in the Andean case, and elite, foreign-educated intellectuals like Pol Pot and his cohorts in Cambodia—such ideologies have to be made persuasive to subaltern populations, if the masses are part of the scheme of revolutionary mobilization. Accordingly, the message is usually shaped to harness the power of their frustrations and humiliations, and marshal them to the millenarian project.

Th ese comments touch on the broader relationship between leaders and fol-lowers in genocide and subaltern genocide. It is impossible to gauge, in the cases examined in this chapter ranging from “pure” performance to mass atrocity, what precise role is played by leadership fi gures, and exactly how signifi cant they are in the overall equation. Surely, they are always present. But the leaders need not be drawn from state ranks—though state involvement is sometimes seen as so essential to genocide that it is a core element of many scholarly defi nitions of genocide. Recent political science contributions to genocide studies, notably by


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Benjamin Valentino, Manus Midlarsky, and Scott Straus, have placed renewed emphasis on state direction and top-down mobilization.41 Close attention to sub-altern genocide framings, however, suggests that in addition to top-down mobi-lizations, proto-genocidal worldviews may be organically constructed from below, to a signifi cant and sometimes predominant extent, and that these may be essen-tial to the “successful” waging of a genocidal campaign.

One can, for example, question Valentino’s claim that in Cambodia, cer-tain “communist elites seem to have created new social categories for their vic-tims out of whole cloth”—as with the “new people” under the Khmer Rouge, “a completely manufactured social group consisting of businessmen, city dwellers, foreigners, and virtually anyone with an education.”42 Valentino is correct that the categories were constructed and shaped far beyond the subaltern realm. But even in this extreme case of top-down mobilization, the antipathies associated with the social categories did long preexist Khmer Rouge propaganda. Th e com-munists did not invent urban-rural, literate-illiterate, worker-farmer, and rich-poor distinctions. Inchoate prejudices, stereotypes, and hostilities may need to be mobilized and directed in order to reach their full virulent potential. But leaders and “violence entrepreneurs” may also be plowing fertile ground among marginalized or dispossessed populations.

Mahmood Mamdani emphasizes this point in When Victims Become Killers, the work of genocide studies that has taken the most explicit note (albeit in passing) of a subaltern genocidal framing. Analysis of the Rwandan holocaust that “presents the genocide as exclusively a state project and ignores its subal-tern and ‘popular’ character” is misplaced, writes Mamdani, in a passage cited in the introduction. Th e “salient political fact” for him is “that the genocide was carried out by subaltern masses, even if organized by state functionaries.”43 Perhaps, then, the genocidal dynamic is best viewed as a dialectic, in which lead-ership is vital, but not necessarily statist in nature, and to which followers make distinctive—sometimes primary, oft en decisive—contributions. Among those contributions, as Nicholas Robins has pointed out to me,44 is shaping leaders themselves: in the Andean revolts that Robins studies in chapter 1, “the lead-ers were considerably more conservative than their followers,” who “projected” their dreams and aspirations onto the leaders and seem to have radicalized those leaders’ programs and ideologies thereby.

A prominent theme in the recent genocide-studies literature has been a growing emphasis on the dynamism and contingency of genocidal processes. Th e fi ndings of this chapter, and a number of earlier ones in the book, vali-date attention to these nuances—rather than assuming that genocides are long planned and consistently implemented across time and space. Th is may assist in developing models of subaltern genocide, and of the evolution of subaltern genocidal ideologies. For example, at both performative and atrocious points on the genocidal continuum, annihilatory discourses and strategies may be most evident at the earliest stage of a given movement, when humiliation and disem-powerment may be felt most keenly. At the level of performance, for example, the institution of carnival moved from a genuinely subversive institution, one

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oft en perceived as a threat to the social order, to the far more tightly managed, commercialized, and politically neutered productions of today.45 Likewise, with regard to the “androcidal” strain in feminist theory and literature, it is diffi cult to imagine Valerie Solanas’s vengeful fantasies of subjugating and exterminating the male sex receiving today the warm response accorded them by some move-ment leaders in the 1960s.

In subaltern atrocity, likewise, an explosive dimension—or perhaps, echoing Nicholas Robins’s analysis in chapter 1, an implosive one—is oft en evident. Th e mood of Jewish vengeance against Germans, for example, which found murder-ous expression in certain prison camps and vigilante campaigns, dissipated rap-idly. Certainly, the type of offi cial or semi-offi cial support for a campaign of mass poisoning is diffi cult to conceive of beyond the immediate aft ermath of World War II. With regard to the broader mass movements studied in this volume, the tendency of revolutionary radicalism to give way to factionalism and reaction, or to evaporate when the next planting season comes, has been well noted by scholars of revolutions.

Th e genocidal impetus of such processes does not necessarily end at this point—the reactionary phase, for example, may be far bloodier than the radi-cal one. But the distinctively subaltern dimension may be absent, suggesting its greater infl uence and predominance at earlier stages of rebellions and revolu-tionary upheavals. James Scott alludes to something of this dynamic in the fi nal sentence of his masterful Domination and the Arts of Resistance, speaking of the moment when “hidden transcripts” of subaltern resistance fi nally explode into the public sphere. “If the results seem like moments of madness,” Scott writes, “if the politics they engender is tumultuous, frenetic, delirious, and occasionally violent, that is perhaps because the powerless are so rarely on the public stage and have so much to say and do when they fi nally arrive.”46

On the other hand, one must be alive to a countervailing tendency: the grow-ing radicalization over time of the types of movements (fascistic/dictatorial, millen-nial-revolutionary) that oft en produce genocidal outcomes. Something of this is evident, for example, in the great peasant revolts of the Andean highlands studied by Nicholas Robins, and in twentieth-century cases such as the Ottoman Young Turks, Hutu Power in Rwanda, and possibly the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. Might these genocidal trajectories refl ect a substantially greater degree of top-down mobilization of subaltern masses, and might subaltern movements that are more extreme at an earlier stage be substantially more bottom-up in their origins and orientation, representing explosive outbursts by frustrated populations? Is leadership drawn from subaltern ranks (rather than imposed from without) more prominent in earlier-cresting rather than later-cresting genocidal movements? Or do “late developers” refl ect the rise of subaltern actors through the ranks to posi-tions of dictatorial authority, where they are able to infl ict acts of class vengeance? Something of this latter dynamic might be evident in the great violence associated with the French revolutionary suppression of the Vendée rebels (1791–94), or the destruction of Soviet “kulaks,” and resisting peasants more generally, by predomi-nantly industrial workers of mostly subaltern (peasant) origins.47


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Th e study of subaltern genocide may also help to illuminate the relationship between terrorism and genocide, an area of some controversy in the genocide studies fi eld. Scholars such as Juergen Zimmerer have called for drawing clear distinctions between these phenomena.48 Others, though, perceive a core genocidal impetus in many acts of “freelance” terrorism, notably the attacks on New York and Washington on September 11, 2001. Th e combustible elements of oppression, humiliation, resentment, and envy that are so palpable in most cases of subaltern genocide are no less central to terrorism, and to the sympathy or outright support that some ter-rorist acts evoke—if they can be cast persuasively as acts of subaltern revenge. As Amy Chua points out, “Th e September 11 attacks were an act of revenge by the weak against the powerful, motivated by tremendous feelings of humiliation and inferiority.” Th e perpetrators, she adds, came “from countries that in their own eyes had been raped and humiliated by the West.”49

Terrorism is too oft en defi ned by its freelance, “franchise,” and small-cell variants. Equally relevant, however, is state terrorism and its connection to geno-cide. Certain state-terrorist campaigns of recent decades—Indonesia in 1965–66, Guatemala under the generals in the 1970s and 1980s—are now widely accepted as cases of genocide. Oft en, the terrorist strategy is meant to cow and cull subal-tern populations, and to erode their support for rebellious forces. Th e genocidal killing may then become tit-for-tat, as the oppressed adopt the methods of their oppressors: the vicious rounds of mutual racial killing at key points in the Haitian liberation struggle off er a particularly vivid example of this dynamic.

As the terrorist example indicates, humiliation and envy are central to many genocidal processes, and may be particularly powerful forces in cases of subal-tern genocide, proto-genocidal violence, and symbolic performances containing a genocidal kernel. Intimately related to these founts of genocidal, proto-genocidal, and quasi-genocidal action are the anathematization, humiliation, and frequently mutilation of victims. Th is inscription of atrocity, at once symbolic and cruelly sub-stantive, reminds us that distinctions drawn between “performance” and “atroc-ity” in the genocidal continuum are to some degree an analytical convenience. Atrocity is in part performance: a communicative act. “Ritual cruelty,” within this scheme, “is a symbolic language that can be ‘read’ and then ‘translated’ into spo-ken or written language”50 (see further discussion in chapters 1 and 6).

As Christopher Taylor’s work has shown, here and elsewhere, this atrocious inscription is oft en decisively gendered, and this points to the potential interest of investigating links between gender and subaltern genocide. As one example, my work on gendercide (gender-selective mass killing) suggests that subaltern males are perceived by hegemonic males and females alike as the greatest threat to their security.51 Th e depiction of the subaltern male is uniquely incendiary. He is on the one hand subjugated and despised, but also viewed as powerful, volatile, potentially history-altering: consider the portrait of the male “superpredator” in U.S. discourse on urban public safety during the 1990s, or that of the Islamist ter-rorist (or illegal immigrant) today.52

How parallel are perceptions in cases of subaltern-fueled mass violence? Do the males who overwhelmingly predominate as perpetrators of subaltern geno-

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cide (and all other genocides) perceive hegemonic males as the greatest threat, to be targeted selectively and disproportionately for murder and other severe violence? Additionally, does the sexual “prize” status that attaches to dominant-group women in many instances of subaltern genocide represent a special threat to women thus positioned—as in Rwanda in 1994 (chapter 6), or German ter-ritories under Soviet invasion and occupation (chapter 3)?

Th e Rwandan example may also lead us to ask whether subaltern females are more likely to participate in campaigns of genocide and mass violence that carry a high degree of resonance with popular masses, as opposed to narrower, more elitist campaigns. (Th e high representation of women in guerrilla armies versus national armies may provide some clues here.) If women are more likely to participate as perpetrators in such contexts, is this because subaltern genocides off er special avenues of activity, achievement, and aggrandizement for women? Are the emancipatory justifi cations for subaltern campaigns especially attractive to women who seek a specifi cally gendered liberation? Do female perpetrators, as in Rwanda, display a special desire to assist in attacks on women from the hege-monic group, as revenge for gendered feelings of humiliation?53

Lastly, what of children as gendered subjects of analysis?54 Are they more or less likely to be targeted in subaltern than in other forms of genocide? And—thinking of the chilling use of child killers in Cambodia, Rwanda, and else-where—are they more likely to be perpetrators?

Essential to genocide studies from the beginning have been strategies of prevention and intervention. It is perhaps fi tting to conclude with some consid-erations of the possible relevance of the continuum of subaltern genocide for such strategies.

Attention to this continuum helps to highlight vulnerable groups who may otherwise be sidelined—especially when they occupy positions of privilege, such as the “market-dominant minorities” studied by Amy Chua and others. A certain moral tone-deafness has occluded empathy for such victims. Th is was evident, for example, in the blasé or even celebratory response of hundreds of millions of people worldwide to the September 11 attacks. It was exploited by Hutu Power in Rwanda to obscure the systematic character of the genocide against Tutsi (depicted instead as self-defense against a population that was seeking to rees-tablish its recently lost hegemony). It also explains much of the cultural numb-ness to large-scale victimization of adult males in genocidal situations. Whatever their position in a given social and political equation, men are likely to be viewed not only as militarized, as has long been recognized, but as members of a globally hegemonic gender class—thus, not as “innocent civilians” or potential subjects of humanitarian intervention.55

Attention to the subaltern strand of genocide tends to evoke a less idealized and romanticized image of subaltern actors. A pressing task is to construct fram-ings of subaltern genocide that acknowledge the morally plausible element of campaigns for freedom and liberation, against oppression and injustice—while also recognizing that atrocious and even genocidal tendencies may result from such initiatives. One is therefore called on to identify such tendencies as early as


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possible in a genocidal process—and for scholars to approach past genocides of this type with equal seriousness and dispatch, for the lessons they may hold.56

Moreover, close attention should be paid to institutional environments and social “niches” where subaltern actors may exercise local and/or temporary hegemony (point (3) on the continuum of subaltern genocide sketched in Table 9.1). If it is true, as Kofi Annan has suggested, that genocide occurs when even a single person is targeted “not for what [s]he has done, but because of who [s]he is,”57 then genocidal actions short of full-scale exterminatory campaigns may well qualify—and subaltern actors may sometimes hold the upper hand in these encounters.

Notes 1. See the discussion of “gendercidal institutions” in Jones, Gendercide and Geno-

cide; the case studies collected on the Gendercide Watch web site, http://www.gendercide.org; also, Jones, “Genocide and Structural Violence: Charting the Analytical Terrain,” paper presented at the conference of the International Association of Genocide Scholars, Sarajevo, Bosnia, and Herzegovina, July 10, 2007.

2. See Scott, Weapons of the Weak; also Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance; Scott, Th e Moral Economy of the Peasant.

3. Brass, Riots and Pogroms. 4. Crowley, “Th e Sacred and the Profane in African and African-Derived Carnivals.” 5. Lachmann, Eshelman, and Davis, “Bakhtin and Carnival,” 125. 6. Davis, Inhuman Bondage, 130–31. Christopher Hill likewise notes “certain

set occasions” in medieval England when “the social hierarchy and the social decencies could be turned upside down. It was a safety valve: social tensions were released by the occasional bouleversement; the social order seemed perhaps that much more tolerable.” Hill, Th e World Turned Upside Down, 16–17.

7. “Th e provocative, mirthful inversion of prevailing institutions and their hier-archy as staged in the carnival off ers a permanent alternative to offi cial culture—even if it ultimately leaves everything as it was before.” Lachmann et al., “Bakhtin and Carnival,” 125.

8. Quoted in ibid., 127. 9. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 173–74, 181. Another example of

the phenomenon is the Hindu festival of Holi, which according to Maria Masri “involv[ed] the ebullient hurling of coloured powder at one’s social superiors. It is intended to subvert, temporarily, the Hindu caste hierarchy, turning the world upside-down and putting the Shudras [lower caste pastoral groups] on top. By the 1930s Holi, now a seven-day event, had become the main festival of north Indian bazaars and remains one of the most popular festivals of India today.” Masri, Vishnu’s Crowded Temple, 123.

10. Ibid., 41, citing Al-Tony Gilmore, Bad Nigger!: Th e National Impact of Jack Johnson.

11. Quoted in Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 41–43. Emphasis added.12. Ibid., 43n49.13. Jones, “Gender and Genocide in Rwanda,” in Gendercide and Genocide, 123.14. Solanas, SCUM Manifesto.15. Dana Stevens points to “the fascist moments in Solanas’s text,” including “her

quasi-Futurist love for the politics of pure destruction” and “references to the ‘degenerate

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art’ produced by male artists.” See her review on Bookslut.com, July 2004, http://www.bookslut.com/nonfi ction/2004_07_002814.php.

16. Solanas, SCUM Manifesto, 35–36, 80.17. Ibid., 67, 70.18. All quotes from Ronell, “Deviant Payback,” 10, 15.19. All quotes from Cortiel, “Acts of Violence,” For more on these feminist utopias

and related sub-genres, see Larbalestier, Th e Battle of the Sexes in Science Fiction.20. Kaufman, Germany Must Perish!, 13, 90, 93–94.21. Herf, Th e Jewish Enemy, 111–12. Something of the same quandary arises with

regard to Henry Morgenthau, the only American Jewish member of Franklin Roosevelt’s wartime cabinet, who proposed a radical scheme (the “Morgenthau Plan”) for the dein-dustrialization of Germany and the transfer of millions of Germans to the Soviet Union as forced laborers. See Bassiouni, Crimes against Humanity in International Criminal Law, 38. Morgenthau was closely involved in relief eff orts for Jews during the war (see his entry in the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum’s online Holocaust Encyclopedia, http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/article.php?lang=en&ModuleId=10007408), so he can reasonably be assumed to have been knowledgeable about the Jewish plight and sympathetic to it. Th is may account for the disparaging depiction of his plan, by Morgenthau’s colleague Henry Stimson, as “Semitism gone wild for vengeance” (quoted in Bass, Stay the Hand of Vengeance, 167). But one should by no means casually adopt this framing of Morgenthau’s actions. He himself seems to have avoided a direct linkage (though this may have been smart politics in an antisemitic era). Moreover, non-Jewish fi gures in the Allied camp vocally supported Morgenthau’s plan, while others craft ed their own variations on the Carthaginian theme.

22. Sack, An Eye for an Eye, 47, 87, 106. See also the discussion (including of Sack’s book) in Piotrowski, Poland’s Holocaust, 58–65. As an intriguing and possibly relevant coda, when new generations of Israelis reached adolescence in the 1960s and 1970s, one of the most popular cultural products they seized upon was a series of pornographic novels, sold at kiosks, depicting Jews and other victims in Nazi concentration-camp settings. See Glasner-Heled, “Reader, Writer, and Holocaust Literature,” 109–33. Th e plots of this so-called “Stalag” genre “frequently concluded with the male characters exacting revenge on their tormentors by raping and killing them.” See “Documentary Looks at Nazi Porn in Israel.”

23. Segev, Th e Seventh Million, 142, 145, 149; emphasis added. Similar feelings of weakness and paralysis affl icted the Palestinian Jewish community “when the extermination of the Jews was at its height.” Moshe Kleinman, editor of the World Zionist Organization paper Haolam, declared his willingness “to impose on the German people a boundless measure of suff ering and torture to be endured for hundreds of years, until their heavy sins are burned away and purifi ed.” But he was perceptive enough to recognize that this desire for vengeance was born of subaltern despair—“the desperate cry of the miserable and oppressed, those powerless to protect themselves, [who] demand vindication for their blood and humiliation from the conscience of the world and long, at least in their imaginations, to see ‘the revenging of the blood of thy servants.’” Quoted in Segev, Th e Seventh Million, 150–51; emphasis added.

24. Earl Ofari Hutchinson, “Why Are Black Leaders Silent on Black Hate Crimes?”25. See, e.g., Morsch, “Th e Problem of Motive in Hate Crimes,” 659–89.

26. Moreover, hoax reporting of hate crimes is quite common. Oft en, such actions can themselves be considered hate crimes; subaltern men and women are frequently the perpetrators, whether they aim to draw attention to themselves, a wider cause, or both. See, e.g., “When a Hate Crime Isn’t a Hate Crime: Racial Hoaxes on College Campuses,” 52.


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27. Cited in D’Souza, Th e End of Racism, 403.28. Mydans, “A Target of Rioters, Koreatown is Bitter, Armed and Determined.”29. Park, “Use and Abuse of Race and Culture,” 497.30. Del Zotto and Jones, “Male-on-Male Sexual Violence in Wartime.”31. Human Rights Watch, No Escape.32. Ibid., 35, 73.33. Quoted in Human Rights Watch, No Escape, 215–17.34. Coetzee, Disgrace, 158–59.35. SkyNews report on YouTube, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2E9oz4dfLs,

posted July 19, 2006.36. Moynahan, “Farms of Fear.”37. van der Walt, “A Shame versus a Guilt-Oriented Conscience.”38. Moynahan, “Farms of Fear.”39. Stanton interviewed on “Carte Blanche,” South African television clip, undated

(available from the author; write to [email protected]).40. Lepore, Th e Name of War, 119.41. Straus, Th e Order of Genocide; Midlarsky, Th e Killing Trap; Valentino, Final

Solutions.42. Valentino, Final Solutions, 19.43. Mamdani, When Victims Become Killers, 8, 185.44. Robins, personal communication, March 19, 2008. See also the important

discussion of “Leadership and Division,” in Robins, Native Insurgencies and the Genocidal Impulse in the Americas, 108–41.

45. Aft er abolition in Brazil, reports Alma Guillermoprieto, “the newly free blacks were a constant source of irritation for the conservative elite defeated in the fi ght over slavery, and at no time more so than during carnival, when their boisterous presence on the streets amounted to a provocation. By the turn of the century carnival had become the staging ground for a new battle fought between the proponents of a ‘civilized’ celebration and the recalcitrantly ‘African’ blacks. A fl urry of police regulations and restrictions sought to limit or eliminate the black infl uence on carnival. African drum sessions were prohibited. With an eye to keeping black revelers up on the hills, many regulations specifi ed that only ‘certain types’ of carnival associations could parade down Rio’s principal streets.” Guillermoprieto explores how this conservative opinion found its echo among “the emerging class of black artisans, skilled laborers and professionals” who also “want[ed] to distance themselves from the drums and the chants and all the native music’s tribal connotations,” leading by the early twentieth century to the advent of “the civilized black carnival the white world had been waiting for.” Guillermoprieto, Samba, 24–25.

46. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 227.47. See Viola, Th e Best Sons of the Fatherland.48. See, e.g., Zimmerer, “From the Editors: Genocidal Terrorism?,” 379–87.49. Chua, World on Fire, 256.50. Taylor, Sacrifi ce as Terror.51. See Jones, Gendercide and Genocide.52. On the “Superpredator” motif, see Hayden, “Th e Myth of the Super-Predator.”

For vivid evidence of the overlap of gender with race/culture/religion in the “war on terror,” see the short video pastiche Th e Planet of the Arabs, posted (at the time of writing) to Google Videos.

53. See Jones, “Gender and Genocide in Rwanda.”

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54. Th e principal theorist of children as subjects in genocide is R. Charli Carpenter; see, e.g., her article, “Surfacing Children,” 428–77.

55. See Carpenter, “Innocent Women and Children”; Jones, “Genocide and Humani-tarian Intervention”; Jones, “Straight as a Rule,” 451–69.

56. Elsewhere along the genocidal continuum, this might prompt greater attention to (and critical engagement with) hate speech that accompanies and masquerades as emancipatory discourse—whether this takes the form of the racial bigotry affl icting some African American activism or the bludgeoning misandry of Andrea Dworkin’s feminist writings, permeated with “a primitive abhorrence of men, so blatant and compulsive that it obviates [a] pretense to critical analysis” (Mullarkey, “Hard Cop, Soft Cop,” reviewing Dworkin’s Intercourse).

57. Kofi Annan, quoted in “A Genocide Begins with the Killing of One Man,” Every-thing2.com, http://everything2.com/index.pl?node_id=1493745.

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209

Biographical Notes

EditorsNicholas A. Robins is a lecturer in the Department of History at North Caro lina State

University. He holds a Ph.D. in Latin American Studies from Tulane Uni versity. He is author of Priest-Indian Confl ict in Upper Peru: Th e Generation of Rebellion, 1750–1780; Native Insurgencies and the Genocidal Impulse in the Americas; Genocide and Millennialism in Upper Peru: Th e Great Rebellion of 1780–1782; Th e Culture of Confl ict in Modern Cuba; Mesianismo y Semiótica Indígena en el Alto Perú: La Gran Rebelión de 1780–1782; and El mesianismo y la rebelión indígena: La rebelión de Oruro en 1781. He is also editor of Confl ictos Políticos y movimientos sociales en Bolivia and Cambio y continuidad en Bolivia: etnicidad, cultura e identidad, as well as numerous articles.

Adam Jones is Associate Professor of Political Science at the University of British Columbia, Okanagan, Canada. From 2005 to 2007, he was postdoctoral fellow in the Genocide Stud ies Program at Yale University. He is the author or editor of a dozen books, including Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction; Crimes against Humanity: A Beginner’s Guide; and Gender Inclusive: Essays on Violence, Men and Feminist Inter-national Relations. He serves as executive director of Gendercide Watch (www.gender-cide.org), a Web-based educational initiative that confronts gender-selective atrocities against men and women worldwide. He is also senior book review editor of the Journal of Genocide Research. Personal web site: http://adamjones.freeservers.com. Email: [email protected].

AuthorsAlexander Laban (Alex) Hinton is Director of the Center for the Study of Genocide and

Human Rights and Associate Professor of Anthropology and Global Aff airs at Rutgers University, Newark. He is the author of Why Did Th ey Kill? Cambodia in the Shadow of Genocide and fi ve edited or co-edited collections: Genocide: Truth, Memory, and Representation; Night of the Khmer Rouge: Genocide and Democracy in Cambodia; Annihilating Diff erence: Th e Anthropology of Genocide; Genocide: An Anthropological Reader; and Biocultural Approaches to the Emotions. He is currently working on sev-eral other projects, including an edited volume, Local Justice, a book on 9/11 and Abu Ghraib, and a book on the politics of memory and justice in the aft ermath of the Cambodian genocide.

Eric Langenbacher is Visiting Assistant Professor and Director of Special Pro grams in the Department of Government, Georgetown University, where he teaches courses on comparative politics, political culture, and political fi lms. He has also taught at George Washington University and in Buenos Aires, Argentina. His book manuscript Memory Regimes and Political Culture in Contemporary Germany is currently under review. His research interests center on political culture, collective memory, political institutions, and public opinion in Europe and the United States.

210

Evelin G. Lindner is an interdisciplinary social scientist. She holds two Ph.D.s, in social medicine and social psychology. In 1996, she began her research on humiliation and its role in genocide and war. Th is research conducted from 1997 to 2001 involved more than 200 interviews with people implicated in or knowledgeable about Rwanda, Somalia, and Nazi Germany. Lindner is currently concentrating on planned books and articles on humiliation, as well as establishing the Human Dignity and Humiliation Studies network as an international platform for further work on the subject. She is affi liated with the Columbia University Confl ict Resolution Network, New York; the University of Oslo, Department of Psychology, Norway; and the Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, Paris; and she teaches in Southeast Asia, the Middle East, Australia, and other places globally.

David B. MacDonald holds a Ph.D. in International Relations from the London School of Economics. He is the author of Balkan Holocausts? Serbian and Croatian Victim-Centered Nationalism and the War in Yugoslavia and Identity Politics in the Age of Genocide: Th e Holocaust and Historical Representation. Formerly a Senior Lecturer in Political Studies at the University of Otago, he now teaches political sci-ence at the University of Guelph.

E. O. Smith is Emeritus Professor of Anthropology at Emory University. He received his Ph.D. from Ohio State University, where his dissertation research focused on the evolu-tionary basis of social play in rhesus monkeys. He has done fi eldwork with nonhuman primates in Micronesia as well as in Africa. His fi eldwork has been supported by the National Science Foundation, the World Wildlife Fund, the International Union for the Conservation of Nature, and the Leakey Foundation. Smith has also done research with captive nonhuman primates at the Yerkes National Primate Center, and has received funding from the National Institutes of Health and the National Institute on Drug Abuse. He is the author When Culture and Biology Collide and more than seventy-fi ve jour-nal articles, abstracts, and other publications; and the editor of Social Play in Primates, Private Ecology and Human Origins, Evolutionary Medicine, and Evolutionary Medicine and Health. His current research centers on the application of evolutionary theory to the behavior of modern humans.

Christopher C. Taylor is Professor in the Department of Anthropology and Social Work at the University of Alabama–Birmingham. His research specialties are symbolic anthropology, medical anthropology, and political anthropology. He conducted fi eld-work in Rwanda from 1983 to 1985, in 1987, and again in 1993–1994 at the outset of the genocide. Th e experience is described in his book Sacrifi ce as Terror: Th e Rwandan Genocide of 1994. He has also published Milk, Honey and Money: Changing Concepts in Rwandan Healing.

Bio graphical Notes

211

Adenauer, Konrad, 69Adler, Alfred, 148admiration, elite, 150–154,

194, 200Aijmer, Göran, 124, 125Algerian revolution, 53–54Alós, Joaquin, 30Alquisalete, Gerónimo, 33altruism, reciprocal, 173,

179n25Amaru, Andrès Túpac, 30Amaru, José Gabriel Túpac,

2, 31, 33American slave rebellions,

48–49Amin, Idi, 12Anaya, Josefa, 29androcidal feminism,

188–190, 205n56animals: lethal aggression by,

159, 165–172, 176–178; philopatry and, 172, 179n23

Annan, Kofi , 202anti-colonial rebellions,

48–51, 53–54Apasa, Gregoria, 29Art, David, 69Atkinson, Ti-Grace, 190atrocity, inscription of, 200authority, elite: shame

over admiration and imitation of, 150–154; symbols of, 13, 34–35

Ayoob, Mohammed, 9

Bartoszewski, Wladyslaw, 66–67

Th e Battle of Algiers, 53Battle of Kosovo, 105

beauty, 17, 129–130, 150–151

Becker, Elizabeth, 7Benavides, Josef, 30Bennett, Rolla, 48Bercé, Yves-Marie, 52Blanke, Richard, 62Blind Trust, 142Blood and Soil, 52Bloody Hands of Islam, 112Bodega, Corregidor, 35Bogosavljevic, Srdan, 105Bosnia-Herzegovina, 74;

fascism in, 103; sep-aration from Croatia, 114–115; Srebrenica genocide in, 16–17, 103, 109–112, 113–114; war with Croatia, 108–109. See also Serbs

Brandt, Willy, 65, 68Broz, Josip, 107Bulajic, Milan, 115Bulnes, Francisco, 51–52

Callisaya, Tomás, 28, 29–30, 33

Cambodia. See Khmer Rouge

A Cambodian Odyssey, 84carnivals, 187–188, 204n45caste systems, 202n9Caste War of Yucatán, 47,

49, 50castration imagery, 127–128,

129Catari, Dámaso, 26, 29Catari, Nicolás, 26, 29Catari, Tomás, 1, 26Catari, Túpac, 1, 25, 26,

29, 33

Catholicism. See religionCatiti, Alonso, 25Chalk, Frank, 4Charny, Israel, 4Chea, Nuon, 99Childs, Matt, 48Chua, Amy, 11, 51, 200Churchill, Winston, 62coalitionary killing by pri-

mates, 159, 165–172Coetzee, J. M., 195Cohen, Dov, 143colonialism, rebellions

against, 53–54competition, intraspecifi c,

161continuum, genocidal, 12,

19–20, 185–187, 202, 205n56

Cortés, Dionicio, 33Cortiel, Jeanne, 190Coyotes, 25Crabwalk, 69Croatia, 74; fascism in, 103;

separation from Serbian Republic, 114–115; war with Bosnia-Herzegovina, 108–109. See also Serbs

culture, 139–140, 150–151, 194, 202n6; xenophobia and, 174–175

curses, 188Czechoslovakia: Germans

in, 62, 63–65; postwar and postcommunist, 63–65; reconcilia-tion with Germany, 65–67; Zentrum gegen Vertreibungen and, 71

Index

212

Dadrian, Vahakn, 4Dallaire, Roméo, 130–131Darwin, Charles, 161, 163,

164–165Davis, David Brion, 48–49,

187de Ayala, Pedro, 31de la Borda, Matías, 29de Lamarck, Chevalier, 163de Lorenzana, Antonio, 34de Monet, Jean-Baptiste-

Pierre-Antoine, 163de Segurola, Sebastían, 29de Talaban, Juan, 34de Uriate, Josef, 29de Zayas, Alfred-Maurice

de, 9Th e Deadly Ethnic Riot, 11Dedijer, Vladimir, 107, 115democracy, 17, 135–136n2,

152–153Dimitrów, Edmund, 63Disgrace, 195Dobkowski, Michael N., 4Domination and the Arts of

Resistance, 199Doudĕra, Karel, 64Dworkin, Andrea, 205n56

Ebihara, May M., 91Edelmann, Marek, 70egalization, 153elite admiration, 150–154,

194, 200Ellis, John, 50envy, 150–154, 194, 200ethical cleansing, 14, 72–74ethnic cleansing, 58, 61, 72,

75n15ethnicity. See race and

ethnicityevolution of humans:

agriculture in, 143; compared to animals, 159, 165–172; competi-tion and, 161; culture, 139–140, 150–151; Darwinian, 164–165, 176–178; defi ned,

163–164; evolution-ary theory in study of, 19, 160–162; genetic mutations in, 163–164; genocide as transitions in, 145–154, 172–174; globalization and, 153;

human behavior and, 160–161, 165; human-

rights ideals in, 143–145; natural selection in, 164;

off spring and, 162; survival and, 161–162; xenophobia and, 174–175exclusion humiliation, 145exclusion subjugation, 145An Eye for an Eye: Th e

Story of Jews Who Sought Revenge for the Holocaust, 9, 191

Fanon, Frantz, 9, 53Fear: Anti-Semitism in

Poland Aft er Auschwitz, 67

Fein, Helen, 4Th e Female Man, 190feminism, androcidal,

188–190, 205n56Th e Fire, 69Th e First Way of War, 50foot-binding, Chinese,

150–151Fox, George, 52Francisco “El Ollita,” 25Friedrich, Jörg, 69

Ganboa, Pedro, 28Genocide and Millennialism

in Upper Peru, 50genocides, subaltern:

anti-colonialism, 48–51, 53–54; class revenge and, 85–86, 87–99, 195–197, 198; as “cleansing” of inferiority complex, 18, 148–150; as “cleansing” of shame over elite admiration,

150–154; in compara-tive genocide studies, 3–10; conditions promoting, 174–175, 201–202; defi nition of

genocide and, 3–5; dynamism and contin-gency of, 198–199; ethnic cleansing and, 58, 61, 72, 75n15; geno-cidal continuum and, 12, 19–20, 185–187, 202, 205n56; humans as the only animal species to participate in, 19, 172–174, 176–178; humiliation in, 31, 32–33, 138–139, 145–154; information sources on, 25; interventions, 152–154, 201; limited availability of high value concentrated resources and, 175; mutilations in, 16, 30–31, 33, 35, 127, 134, 150; past victimi-zation and, 103–104; peasant revolts as, 51–53, 199; prevention, 201; radicalization of movements leading to, 199; symbolism and, 30–34; terrorism and, 141, 154, 200; treatment of clerics in, 30–33, 34; treatment of women in, 33–34; xenophobia and, 174–175

Germans, ethnic: ethical cleansing, 14, 72–74; Federal Republic of Germany and, 67–69; Jewish revenge toward, 9, 20, 191–193, 199; origins of, 59–61; in Poland, 60; in postwar and postcommunist Europe, 63–65; and relations between

index

213

Czechoslovakia and Germany, 65–67; scale and nature of expul-sions of, 14–15, 61–63, 76n40, 77n59; World War II and, 58–59, 61–63; Zentrum gegen Vertreibungen and, 69–72, 78n97

Germany Must Perish!, 191Girard, Phillippe, 3globalization, 153Glotz, Peter, 69Godelier, Maurice, 124, 125Goebbels, Joseph, 191Goldstone, Richard, 112–113Gombe Stream National

Park, Tanzania, 159, 166Gramsci, Antonio, 9Grass, Günter, 69Great Rebellion of Peru:

attacks on clerics and churches in, 32–33, 34; Creoles and Spaniards ordered killed in, 29–30; events of, 26; leaders of, 25, 28–29; mutilations in, 30–31; as response to oppression by Hispanics, 1–3, 8–9, 12–13, 28–30; Spanish response to, 20–21n3; symbolic superimpo-sition in, 34–35; sym-bolism in, 30–34

Gross, Jan, 67Guillermoprieto, Alma,

204n45Gurr, Ted, 5

Habyarimana, Juvénal, 122, 125–127, 136nn11, 13

Haiti, 2–3, 47, 48Hale, Robert L., 142Hamilton, W. D., 161Harff , Barbara, 5Hartling, Linda M., 141hate crimes, 193–194,

203n26

Havel, Vaclav, 65–66Heineman, Elizabeth, 61Herf, Jeff rey, 22n32, 191Hilberg, Raul, 10Hindu castes, 202n9Hinton, Alexander, 7, 15–16,

185Hispanics: ethnicity of,

55n8; Great Rebellion against, 8–9, 12–13, 20–21n3, 26, 28–30; Pueblo Revolt against, 26–28; response to rebellions, 20–21n3; symbols of authority, 34–35; women, 33–34

Th e History and Sociology of Genocide, 4

Hitler, Adolf, 59, 66, 150; humiliation felt by, 142, 147–148

Holocaust, 3, 58, 69, 73, 142. See also Nazi Germany

honor: equal dignity and, 143–144; humiliation and, 18, 142–143

Horowitz, Donald L., 11Horowitz, Irving Louis, 4Hotel Rwanda, 152human nature, 139–140human rights, 143–145, 151Human Rights Watch, 194humiliation: exclusion, 145;

fear and, 141; genocide and, 31, 32–33, 138–140, 145–154, 200; research, 140–143; shame and, 18, 142; subaltern rage and, 195–197; subalterns’ acceptance of, 140–141

Humiliation and Other Essays on Honor, Social Discomfort, and Violence, 143

Hutchinson, Earl Ofari, 193

Th e Iliad, 143imagery, sexual, 17–18,

127–135

Indians: deaths due to over-work and suicides, 27; loyal to the Hispanics, 27–28; native dress and language, 33; religious oppression against, 27; uprisings against white colonists, 48–51

indoctrination, 87–91, 198inferiority complex, 18,

148–150Inhuman Bondage, 48inscription of atrocity, 200interventions, genocide,

152–154, 201Ivory Coast, 54Izetbegovic, Alija, 109

Jasenovac: Th e Yugoslav Auschwitz and the Vatican, 115

Jeff ries, Jim, 188Jepke, Ulla, 72Jessel, David, 152Th e Jewish Enemy, 22n32Jews: in the Holocaust, 58,

69, 73, 142; revenge and, 9, 20, 191–193, 199, 203n21. See also Nazi Germany

John Paul II, Pope, 65Johnson, Jack, 188Jonassohn, Kurt, 4Jones, Adam, 19–20, 74, 104,

107, 116Jonva, Nicolás, 25justice, 52, 58

Kaczynski, Jaroslaw, 71–72Kaczynski, Lech, 70Kagame, Paul, 116, 127Kangura, 133Karadzic, Radovan, 112–113Kaufman, Th eodore N., 191Kecmanovic, Dusan, 105Kennedy, Florynce, 190Khmer Rouge: blood imag-

ery, 95–96; burning rage and, 15, 85–87; class

index

214

revenge and, 5–7, 89–99; continued rage and, 93–98; distrust of cities and, 91–92; families killed by, 97–98; indoc-trination by, 87–91, 198; military actions by, 92–93, 97–98; “new people,” 6–7, 96–98; reconciliation with the new Cambodian government, 98–99; revenge against, 98; soldiers, 84–85; songs and dances, 94–96

Kiernan, Ben, 52–53Th e Killing Fields, 7King, Rodney, 193King Philip’s War, 51Kittel, Manfred, 68Klaus, Vaclav, 66, 70Klein, Donald C., 141Kleinman, Moshe, 203n23Kljuic, Stjepan, 109Kolakowski, Leszek, 70Kopper, Christopher, 62Korbel, Josef, 61Korean Americans, 11, 194Kovner, Abba, 192Kowalski, Wojciech, 79n106Kranz, Jerzy, 64Krstic, Radislav, 103, 113,

114Kruczkowski, Leon, 64Krzeminski, Adam, 70Kwasniewski, Aleksander, 71

Langenbacher, Eric, 9, 14, 116

Laskov, Haim, 193Lazare, Aaron, 142Leclerc, General, 2–3Lemkin, Raphael, 3Lepore, Jill, 197Letrado, Francisco, 31Levi-Strauss, Claude, 30Lewis, Helen Block, 142, 151Lift on, Robert Jay, 142Lindner, Evelin G., 18, 30,

116, 194, 196Lipski, Jan Jósef, 65Llagua, Fermín, 35Lobos, 25Lon Nol, 15, 90–91, 93, 97Los Angeles riots of 1992,

193–194Louis, Joe, 188Luchetta, Tracy, 141–142

MacDonald, David B., 16, 17Mageo, Jeanette, 185Malkki, Liisa, 129Mamani, Santos, 28Mamdani, Mahmood, 7–8,

198Mandela, Nelson, 18, 145,

154Margalit, Avishai, 142, 153market-dominant minori-

ties, 11, 194Markovic, Mihailo, 115Marks, Stephan, 142marriage, 130, 133Masri, Maria, 202n9Mau-Mau uprising, 54May, Someth, 97Meckel, Markus, 71La Medaille-Nyiramacibiri,

127Mein Kampf, 147, 150Merkel, Angela, 71Mestizos, 1, 25–26, 28Midlarsky, Manus, 198Mihailovic, Draza, 106millenarian revolts, 52–53,

55n19, 197Miller, Leszek, 71Miller, William Ian, 143, 144Milosevic, Slobodan, 108,

114, 115Mirkovic, Damir, 106Mladic, Ratko, 103, 109,

110–113Moeller, Robert, 68Mönnich-Marks, Heidi, 142Montaño, Otilio, 51Montes de Oca, Joseph, 34Montville, Joseph V., 142

Morador, Jesus, 31Morales, Evo, 51Morgan, Mohammed Sidi

Hersi, 149Morgan, Robin, 190Morgenthau, Henry, 203n21Morsch, James, 193Munich Agreement, 62Muslims, 16–17, 110, 112,

113, 200mutilations, 16, 30–31, 33,

35, 127, 134, 150

Napoleon, 2–3Naranjo, Domingo, 25Nathanson, Donald L., 142National Alliance for

Positive Action, 193National Liberation Front

(FLN), 53National Organization for

Women (NOW), 190Native Insurgencies and the

Genocidal Impulse in the Americas, 50

natural selection, 164Nazi Germany, 10, 58–59,

68, 70, 115–116, 139, 147–148. See also Germans, ethnic

Ndadaye, Melchior, 127, 136–137n13

Nedic, Milan, 106negative reciprocity, 188Neighbors: Th e Destruction of

the Jewish Community in Jedwabne, Poland, 67

Ngor, Haing, 6–7, 84, 96–97Niemietz, Gottfried, 115Nikolic, Tomislav, 116Nisbett, Richard E., 142–143No Escape: Male Rape in U.

S. Prisons, 194Nuremberg Tribunal, 72

off spring and evolution, 162On Apology, 142On the Origin of Species,

161, 163

index

215

Oric, Naser, 112, 114Osborn, William, 50Otermín, Antonio, 26, 32

Paca, Rafael, 35Palimpsest: A Memoir, 50Park, Kyeyoung, 194Paroubek, Jiri, 70Pat, Jacinto, 50peacekeepers, U. N.,

109–110, 136n12peasant revolts, 51–53, 199Peasant Wars of the Twen-

tieth Century, 52Peru. See Great Rebellion

of Peruphilopatry, 172, 179n23Phnom Penh Post, 84Pol Pot: anger toward, 5, 98;

blood imagery used by, 95; on class rage, 89; leadership of, 86, 87; Marxist-Leninism stud-ied by, 90; supporters of, 84–85

Poland: ethical cleansing and, 72–74; Germans in, 62–63; postwar and postcommunist, 63–65; World War II and, 58, 59, 70, 75n1; Zentrum gegen Vertreibungen and, 69–72

Pontecorvo, Gillo, 53Porter, Jack Nusan, 4post-traumatic stress disor-

der (PTSD), 143prevention, genocide, 201primates, 159, 165–172prison rape, 194–195Prunier, Gérard, 8, 130Prussia, 60–61, 63Pueblo Revolt: attacks on

clerics and churches in, 31–32, 34; events of, 26; leaders of, 25; mutilations in, 30–31; as response to oppression by Hispanics, 27–28;

symbolic superimposi-tion in, 34–35; symbol-ism in, 30–34

Quets, Gail A., 5Quispe, Felipe, 51

race and ethnicity: hate crimes and, 193–194; market-dominant minorities and, 11, 194; mixed parentage and, 25–26; prison rape and, 194–195; in rational confl ict, 138; subaltern concepts of, 13, 25–26, 55n8

radicalization of movements, 199

Rang, Florenz Christian, 187rape: prison, 194–195; in

subaltern genocides, 61, 109, 134

Rau, Johannes, 71reciprocal altruism, 173,

179n25Red Sticks uprising, 51Reed, Nelson, 49refugees, 7, 61–62, 122, 126reinforcement subjugation,

145religion: attacks on clerics

and, 31–33, 34; forced conversions and, 106; oppression and, 27; symbolism and, 30–33, 34

resource allocation and genocide, 175

retributive genocide, 4retrospective shame, 145Retzinger, Suzanne, 142revenge, 85–86, 151, 173,

188; blood imagery and, 95–96; class rage and, 85–87, 95–98, 195–197, 198; distrust of cities and, 91–92; indoctrination and,

87–91; by Jews, 9, 20, 191–193, 199, 203n21; Khmer Rouge and class, 5–7, 89–99; Marxist-Leninism and, 90

Revolutionary Flags, 93–94Revolutionary Young Men

and Women, 88, 91Robins, Nicholas, 8, 12, 50,

104, 197, 198, 199Rodríguez, Jacinto, 29Rohde, David, 112Th e Role of Humiliation and

Embarrassment in Serial Murder, 142

Ronell, Avital, 189, 190Roosevelt, Franklin, 203n21Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 50Rusesabagina, Paul, 152Russ, Joanna, 190Rwanda, 116; democratiza-

tion of, 17, 135–136n2; free press in, 17, 123; genocide in, 6, 122–123, 125–127, 134–135, 150, 198; humiliation in, 140; Hutus power in, 6, 11, 127–130, 147; images of beauty in, 129; imagining of sexual violence in, 128–135; kingship symbolism in, 127–128; marriage in, 130, 133; refugees, 122, 126; sexual imagery in, 17–18, 127–128; Tutsi control of, 6, 7, 17, 122–124, 126, 135n1, 136n5, 147; violence and social imaginary in, 124–125; women of, 8, 17–18, 127–135, 201

Sack, John, 9, 191–192Samphan, Khieu, 94, 98, 99Sarin, Ith, 88, 90Sartre, Jean-Paul, 9–10Sayer, Derek, 63schadenfreude, 188

index

216

Scheff , Th omas J., 142, 148, 151

Scheper-Hughes, Nancy, 12, 19, 185

Schröder, Gerhard, 70Scott, James, 86, 186,

187–188, 199SCUM Manifesto, 189–190Segev, Tom, 192Sen, Hun, 99September 11, 2001 terrorist

attacks, 141, 200Serbs, 74; charged with

crimes against human-ity, 112–114; genocides by, 16–17, 103, 109–112, 116; nationalism, 107–108, 115; past victimhood of, 103–105, 115–116; Serbian Republic creation and, 114–115; trauma and, 105–106; war with Croatia, 108–109; during World War II, 106–107

Seselj, Vojislav, 108, 116Th e Seventh Million:

Th e Israelis and the Holocaust, 192

sexual imagery, 17–18, 127–135

shame: humiliation and, 18, 142, 145; over elite admiration, 150–154; unacknowledged and bypassed, 151

Sharpe, Samuel, 49Siad Barre, Mohammed,

147, 148, 151silver, 34slave carnivals, 187–188slave rebellions: American,

48–49; constraints preventing, 47–48; resulting in reversal of roles, 49

Smith, E. O., 19social imaginary, 124–125

Solanas, Valerie, 189–190, 191

Somalia, 140, 148–149South African farmers, 20,

195–197Southwick, Katherine, 114Soviet Union, 58, 59, 61–63Spaniards. See HispanicsSpencer, Herbert, 163Srebrenica, Bosnia, 16–17,

103, 109–112, 113–114Stalin, Josef, 61, 62Standard Social Science

Model (SSSM), 19, 160Stanton, Greg, 197Staub, Ervin, 142Steinbach, Erika, 69Stern, Jessica, 142Straus, Scott, 198Styron, William, 49subaltern genocides. See

genocides, subalternsubaltern groups: carnivals

and, 187–188; concepts of race and ethnicity, 13, 25, 55n8; genocidal continuum, 185–187; hate crimes committed by, 193–194; historical sources on, 9–10, 25; millenarian/messianic belief systems of, 55n19; revenge by, 191–193; status of, 10–12; women as, 188–190, 205n56

subjugation, 145, 196suicides, 27superimposition, symbolic,

34–35symbolism: of authority,

13, 34–35; carnival, 187–188;

187–188; inscription of atrocity, 200; kingship, 127–128; religious, 30–33; sexual imagery, 127–135; social imagi-nary and, 124–125; subaltern genocide and,

30–34; superimposition of, 34–35

Tadic, Boris, 116Taiping Rebellion, 52Taquichiro, Ascensio, 30Taylor, Christopher, 17–18,

200Tellez, Mateo, 30A Terrible Revenge, 9terrorism, 141, 154, 200Th ierse, Wolfgang, 72Th ompson, John L., 5Tibet, 54, 55–56n27total lifetime fi tness, 162trauma, 105–106, 142, 143trials: Nuremberg, 72;

Srebrenica genocide, 112–114

Trivers, Robert, 173Trujeque, Antonio, 50Tudjman, Franjo, 108, 115Turner, Nat, 49Tusk, Donald, 72Tutu, Desmond, 154

Uganda, 12Umurangi, 127–128United Nations, 109–110,

136n12; Genocide Convention of 1948, 3, 4

United States: carnivals, 187–188, 204n45; hate crimes in, 193–194, 203n26; Indian upris-ings in, 48–51; Korean immigrants in, 194; prison rape in, 194–195; slave rebellions in, 48–49; subaltern hate crimes in, 193–194

Ury, William, 143, 153utopian ideology, 197

Valentino, Benjamin, 198van den Burgt, Father, 130van der Walt, B. J., 196Van Young, Eric, 55n19Vargas, Governor, 28, 32

index

217

Vickery, Michael, 7victimhood, 104–105Vidal, Gore, 50Vogel, William, 142Volkan, Vamik, 142Voltaire, 50von Weizsäcker, Richard,

65

Wagner, Roy, 124Waigel, Th eo, 66Walesa, Lech, 67Walker, Alice, 188Wallimann, Isidor, 4war on terror, 154Warhol, Andy, 189Warsaw Treaty of 1970, 65Watson, John B., 160When Victims Become

Killers, 8, 198Why Did Th ey Kill?, 15Th e Wild Frontier, 50Wolf, Eric, 9, 52

women: androcidal feminism and, 188–190; beauty and, 17, 129–130,

150–151; Croatian, 109; German, 61; Hispanic, 33–34; marriage and, 130, 133; as prostitutes, 130–131; rapes of, 61, 109, 134; Rwandan, 8,

17–18, 127–135, 128– 135, 201; sexual imagery and, 17–18, 127–135;

as sub alterns, 188–190, 205n56; violence in-

fl icted by, 188–190, 201World Trade Center, N. Y.,

141World War II: Croatia dur-

ing, 106–107; Germans and, 58, 61–63; Poland during, 58, 59, 62, 70, 75n1. See also Germans, ethnic; Nazi Germany

Th e Wretched of the Earth, 9, 53

Wyatt-Brown, Bertram, 143

xenophobia, 174–175

Yale Human Rights and Development Law Journal, 114

Ye, Juan, 27Yugoslavia: nationalism in,

107–108; during World War II, 106–107. See also Serbs

Zapata, Emiliano, 51Zeman, Milos, 66Zentrum gegen

Vertreibungen, 69–72, 78n97

Zikhovic, Marko, 104Zimmerer, Juergen, 200Zivanovic, Milenko, 112

index